Story Hour
by Dani-Ellie03
Summary: All three of Emma's family members were staring at her expectantly. Really? She was sick, for crying out loud! They were seriously going to make her sit here and tell them stories from her life? On the other hand, she would get stories in return, stories she was surprised to find she really wanted to hear.
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Story Hour  
**Summary: **All three of Emma's family members were staring at her expectantly. Really? She was sick, for crying out loud! They were seriously going to make her sit here and tell them stories? On the other hand, she would get stories in return, stories she was surprised to find she really wanted to hear.**  
****Spoilers:** None, really, but let's just say everything up through 2x10, "The Cricket Game."  
**Rating/Warning:** K+, for Emma's mouth. Family fluff.  
**Disclaimer:** _Once Upon a Time_ and its characters were created by Eddie Kitsis and Adam Horowitz and are owned by ABC. I'm just swinging on their swingset.  
**Author's Note:** This is another one of those "I have a bunch of ideas for little oneshots, so let's see if I can come up with a cohesive way to tie them together" ideas. Shoutout to tjmack, whose excitement helped push this idea into reality. As always, feedback is love. Enjoy!

* * *

"You are aware that you're being completely ridiculous, right?" Emma Swan grumbled.

Her mother's actions were all so … unnecessary. She was actually helping Emma sit down in the corner of the small sofa, as if sitting were such a difficult chore. The amount of concern swimming in Snow White's eyes was a little disconcerting … and, Emma felt, largely disproportionate. She was about to say as much when Snow pressed the back of her hand against her forehead. Emma's mouth dropped open in a combination of embarrassment and horror. "Seriously?"

"Yes, seriously," Snow replied. Emma blinked in surprise at the unusually stern tone of her mother's voice. When the corners of Snow's mouth turned down in a frown, Emma guessed that the hand-on-the-forehead test for a fever had been inconclusive. She placed a pillow she'd grasped from the downstairs bedroom against the arm of the sofa, which Emma studiously ignored. "And I'm not being ridiculous. You almost passed out."

"I did not almost pass out."

With a resigned sigh, Snow grabbed the blanket draped over the top of the sofa. Emma snatched it from her hands before she could do much more than shake it out because she would be damned if she'd let her mother freaking tuck her in. "Oh, really?" Snow asked as Emma bunched the blanket up on her lap. "What happened, then?"

"I just got a little dizzy," Emma shrugged.

"First of all, Emma, that was not 'a little dizzy.' Your face went pure white and you almost dropped. On the steps to the loft, I might add." Emma felt heat rush into her cheeks. Aw, damn it, she was blushing. "Second of all, don't think I haven't noticed how nasal your voice sounds, the way you keep rubbing your ears, or how you cringe every time you swallow. You, my darling daughter, have what I'm guessing is a doozy of a head cold, and you are not going to do a single thing except sit on that sofa for the rest of the day."

Emma was not about to deny that she was a little congested and that her throat was a tiny bit sore. That being said, a simple head cold did not exactly warrant the kind of total lockdown her mother was advocating. "Okay, _doctor_, how the hell does a head cold make me almost pass out? Not that I almost passed out, but since you seem to think I did–"

"Could be any number of things," Snow interrupted, making an obviously concerted effort not to take Emma's argumentative bait. "Maybe you're hungry or dehydrated. Or it could be because your equilibrium is in your inner ear, so if you're really congested–"

"Okay, fine, I get it," Emma grumbled. Now that she thought about it, she had attempted to blow her nose before leaving her room and stopped when the effort hurt her ears. Barely a minute later, she'd had the episode on the steps that had led to … this. Her mother hovering over her as if she were an infant with her first illness.

That inner ear thing Snow had mentioned must have been what caused her dizzy spell. Not that she would ever admit that to her mother.

All of her thoughts came to a crashing halt when Snow once again tried to feel her forehead for a fever. "Oh my God, would you just stop?!"

"You still feel a little warm," Snow murmured almost under her breath. "I'll be right back."

When Snow disappeared into the bathroom, Emma groaned. Fantastic. Now she was searching for a thermometer. She pushed herself to her feet with a grunt and shuffled into the bathroom. "I'm not an invalid, you know," she muttered, leaning against the doorjamb. "I can get the damn thermometer myself."

As luck would have it, a sneeze chose that exact moment to try to escape. The effort of holding it back made Emma's ears ache much like they had when she tried to blow her nose.

Aw, _crap_.

A little groan escaped her lips. She pressed herself against the wall and squeezed her eyes shut as a wave of dizziness washed over her. Snow was by her side an instant later, one hand gripping Emma's elbow and the other arm wrapped around her shoulders in an effort to keep her upright. The vertigo hit in earnest a second later. Though Emma would never admit it out loud, she was kind of glad Snow was there. This episode was a lot stronger than the one on the stairs.

Just as quickly as the vertigo had come, it passed. "You with me?" Snow asked, her grip loosening a little when Emma tried to stand under her own power.

"Yeah," she murmured weakly, an embarrassed flush coloring her pale cheeks. "It looks like there's something to that inner ear theory of yours."

"It's not a theory of mine," Snow chuckled. "It's medical fact. Now, will you please stay on the sofa?"

Snow began slowly walking Emma back towards the couch. Emma started to insist that Snow didn't need to accompany her but the look on her mother's face stopped her. The woman was clearly worried but there was a spark in her eyes that told Emma she better not argue if she knew what was good for her.

Emma didn't think she liked this side of her mother. It made her feel about five years old. "I guess," she grumbled. Arguing wasn't an option but letting her mother know she wasn't happy about her forced imprisonment on the couch was.

David and Henry returned to the apartment from their quick groceryrun just as Snow once again sat Emma down on the sofa. "Mom? Are you sick?" Henry asked as he reached up to set the bags in his hands on the counter.

"No, but you'd never know it with the way Mother Hen over here is acting." A sneeze into her elbow swallowed the end of Emma's sentence. She groaned inwardly; the damn things had such terrible timing.

"You're not sick, hmm?" David gently teased. "I think the sneezing and the nasal-y voice might have something to say about that."

"And I'm acting the way I am because of your inner ear," Snow reminded her before heading back to the bathroom to retrieve the medication and thermometer she hadn't had the chance to get earlier.

Henry wrinkled his nose in his grandmother's direction before turning the same questioning look on his mother. "Don't ask," Emma told him, rolling her eyes. Giving a small shrug, Henry plopped down on the sofa and cuddled up next to her. "Oh, kid, don't get too close! I don't want you to get sick."

The second the words were out of her mouth, Emma wished she could take them back. Damn it, she'd just admitted that she was sick! She met her father's eyes with a cringe. David just smirked at her. "I'll take the chance," Henry said with a smile, recapturing her attention. "I just want to make sure you're okay."

"I'm fine," Emma groaned, trying and failing not to let her exasperation show. She wasn't frustrated with Henry, of course; just the situation in general. "It's just some congestion and a sore throat."

"It's a good thing we bought some ice cream, then," David said gently as he put the groceries away.

Oh, ice cream on her throat sounded heavenly.

"Tea or cocoa will do the trick as well," Snow said as she emerged from the bathroom. She strode to the sofa and handed Emma a dose of cold medicine and the thermometer. "Temperature first. I'll get you some water for the pills."

"This isn't the stuff that's going to knock me on my ass, is it?" Emma asked, frowning down at the pills her mother had dropped in her hand.

"No, but I'll get the nighttime medication for you instead if you keep questioning me over every little thing." Snow hid a smile when Emma huffed and rolled her eyes. "Are you always this horrible of a patient?"

As a matter of fact, she was. She could not stand people fussing over her. "I'm just used to handling things on my own. I never really had anyone to take care of me, so I learned how to take care of myself pretty quickly."

Her parents exchanged a pained glance, making Emma feel about two inches tall. "I'm sorry," she winced. "I didn't mean for that to come out the way it did."

"No, Emma, it's okay," David rushed to assure her. He glanced at Snow, who nodded at him, urging him to continue. "We … we want to know. We want to know what we've missed … if and when you want to tell us."

Emma must have looked as uncomfortable as she felt because Henry gave her a kind smile before snuggling closer. "We could all tell stories! Like, you tell us something and then I tell you something and then Gramma–"

"I get it," Emma interrupted, holding up a hand.

All three of her family members were staring at her expectantly. Really? She was sick, for crying out loud! They were seriously going to make her sit here and tell them stories from her life? On the other hand, she would get stories in return, stories she was surprised to find she really wanted to hear.

Plus, per order of Doctor Snow White, she couldn't go anywhere today anyway. It was shaping up to be a mighty long day without _something_ to do to pass the time. "All right, fine," she sighed. "I guess we can share storytelling duties."

Snow and David smiled in touched relief while Henry threw his arms around her in a sideways hug. Emma hugged him back, a slight grin on her lips. The feeling of her son's arms around her would never get old. She shut her eyes and rested her cheek against the top of Henry's head for a brief moment. "Temperature," Snow reminded her when she lifted her head.

Heaving a sigh, Emma stuck the tip of the thermometer under her tongue. The room held a collective breath as everyone waited for the device to beep, which made Emma ridiculously uncomfortable.

A tense minute passed before the thermometer beeped. Emma pulled it from her mouth but before she had a chance to even glance at the display, Snow snatched it from her hand. "Hey!"

"A hundred even," Snow sighed, shaking her head. She turned the thermometer off and handed her daughter a glass of water while gently shifting her grandson away from his mother. Henry might not mind catching the cold from Emma, but Snow didn't want him getting sick. If Emma felt well enough to truly be aware, she would be protesting his close proximity for the same reason. "Medicine, Emma. Now."

Emma rolled her eyes at her mother's stern instruction. She popped the pills in her mouth, though, mostly because she didn't dare disobey Snow. The ache in her throat when she swallowed them down with a gulp of water made her flinch. "Do you think I could have some of that ice cream now?" she asked sheepishly.

David laughed and let the remaining groceries sit while he scooped out a small bowl of ice cream for his daughter. Henry slid off the sofa to get himself some ice cream, too, not because his throat was sore but because he couldn't watch Emma eat ice cream and not have some of his own.

When her father walked the bowl over to her, Emma smiled a thank you. The first bite of ice cream was as lovely and soothing as she hoped it would be. Someone needed to develop some kind of throat lozenge made entirely of ice cream. Those things would sell like hotcakes … er, no pun intended.

After Emma finished, she threw the blanket off her legs with the intention of bringing her bowl to the sink. Unfortunately Snow spotted her movement, took the bowl and spoon from her hand, and carried them to the sink for her.

Emma sighed, slumping back against the sofa. So far, this day was annoying the ever-living crap out of her.

David put away the last of the groceries and joined his family in the living area. "Is it story time?" Henry asked excitedly.

"It is indeed," Snow affirmed as she handed Emma a mug of tea with a splash of honey. Off Emma' s confused frown, she said, "You need to keep up with your fluids. Now, who wants to get the ball rolling on story time?"


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note:** It never fails to boggle my mind how awesome you all are. Thank you so much for the reviews and favorites and alerts! I hope you enjoy this next part, and I apologize if "High Hopes" ends up stuck in your head. If it's any consolation, it's been stuck in mine for days. ;)

* * *

Emma watched with barely concealed mirth as her father and her son talked over one another, both exuberantly offering to tell the first story. The mild look of panic on Snow's face told Emma that she couldn't decide which one she should allow to talk first. Deciding to give her mother a break, Emma spoke up over the both of them, "_I'm _telling the first story."

All three members of her family turned to her with identical looks of surprise.

Her offer to tell the first story wasn't entirely altruistic, of course. She had figured that getting her story out of the way would allow her to relax enough to appreciate everyone else's stories. Now that she had her family's full attention, however, she was questioning the wisdom of that decision. The whole telling stories thing? Not generally on the top of Emma's list of Fun Things To Do.

Henry made a move to snuggle up with Emma again and then stopped, glancing at Snow. He clearly wanted to comfort his sick mother but didn't dare go against his grandmother's wishes. _I feel you, kid_, Emma thought. She wanted nothing more than to get up from this damn couch and go about her day as usual but the mere thought of the argument doing so would cause was exhausting.

"So, um, what do you want to know?" she asked somewhat uncomfortably.

"Anything you want to tell us," David replied softly.

Sighing quietly, she wracked her brain for a story to tell. Most of Emma's childhood was … not dark, necessarily, but not full of puppies and kittens, either. Some of the foster families were actually quite nice but for one reason or another, she never stayed with the nice ones very long. Or maybe her time with them just seemed so short when compared with the time spent with the not so nice ones. Either way, she had a whole bunch of painful memories and comparatively few good ones.

She didn't want to tell her family about the painful ones, of course. Not right now, not when she was sick and they weren't really prepared for it. Besides, Henry wanted this little exercise to be fun. "I could tell you about the time I accidentally joined chorus class," she said eventually, giving a tiny shrug.

Henry's eyes lit up with excitement. "You like to sing?"

Oh, no. She was nipping this in the bud as fast as she could. "Not at all," she admitted, smiling to let him down gently, "hence the 'accidentally.'"

Snow raised her eyebrows and grinned at her daughter. "This sounds like something I need to hear."

A glance at David proved he was just as interested as his wife, and Henry … well, the kid was practically bouncing up and down in anticipation. Apparently, this was indeed the story she was going to tell. "Okay. I was in fifth grade–"

"So you were my age," Henry interrupted.

"Yes," Emma said, smiling at the dreamy look in his eye as he regarded her. Was he now trying to picture her as a little girl his own age? "If we got to school before the first bell we had to wait outside on the playground. They'd have us line up at the first bell and then they'd let us in at the second."

"Schools do that to avoid having a bunch of kids running through the school without proper supervision," Snow broke in. When she realized everyone had looked at her with amused grins on their faces, her cheeks flushed a light shade of pink. "I was a teacher for twenty-eight years. These are the kinds of things you pick up after a while."

"I guess so," Emma chuckled, then sneezed into her elbow. Clearly, the decongestant had started to kick in. Snow handed Emma a box of tissues. "Thank you. I always got to school really early because both my foster parents had to get to work. I didn't mind because I liked having the time to play before school. One morning it was cold ... like, _really_ cold. I was in a hand-me-down winter coat that was too big for me and I didn't have gloves because someone had stolen them from my coat pockets. My foster father thought I'd lost them and didn't want to admit it, so he refused to buy me another pair. He said it would teach me to have respect for my belongings or something like that."

Emma pretended not to notice the horrified looks on her parents' faces at the thought of their baby girl suffering through a Maine winter in improper outerwear. "The chorus met during music classes each week, but it also met before school in the cafeteria for any student who wanted to get in some extra practice. That morning, I went to chorus class. It was the only way I could think of to get warm."

She paused, feeling another sneeze coming on. After a moment, the feeling just disappeared, making her wonder where those sneezes went when that happened. Did they just disappear into the ether, kind of like traffic jams that clear up out of the blue?

"That was a pretty smart idea," David smiled.

Emma smiled back. "The music teacher had the third- and fourth-graders doing a bunch of kids' songs. The one I remember them working on most was Frank Sinatra's 'High Hopes.'"

"I think I know that song!" Henry exclaimed. "That's the one about the ant moving a plant and the ram punching a hole in a dam, right?"

"Yep," Emma replied, unable to hide her grin at her son's enthusiasm. "How the hell do you know Sinatra?"

He shrugged. "It was on a tape of kids' songs my mom bought me when I was little. I never knew who sang it. "

It was then that Emma realized she liked hearing the nice things Regina had done for Henry. Those nice things didn't make everything else okay – not by a long shot – at least Henry did have some good memories of growing up with Regina. "She had the fifth- and six-graders doing songs that were a little more complex. The day I crashed the class, she started them on 'The Rose' by Bette Midler."

"I know that one," Snow said with a gentle smile.

"I don't," Henry frowned.

_Oh, nice try, kid, _Emma thought with a smirk. "I'm not singing it for you, so get that thought out of your little head right now."

Henry's lower lip jutted out, turning his frown into a pout. Emma had to look away before he had the chance to give her the full-on puppy dog eyes. She was most emphatically _not_ singing, today or ever. "_Anyway_, I thought the song was pretty, so I kept going back to chorus in the mornings just to hear it. I never sang, though … I just listened. A couple weeks later, the teacher kept me after the first bell and asked why I kept coming even though I didn't participate. I admitted I liked the song, and with sudden understanding, she said, 'The first time we played it, I thought I saw tears in your eyes.'"

Tears were beginning to gather in her mother's eyes, and her father had grasped Snow's hand. Aw, why the hell had Emma thought this story would be all right to tell? Maybe she should stop, but she was too far into it now. In for a penny, in for a pound and all that. "She knew a little bit about my situation. All the teachers did. It was a small school and I started about a month into the year, so I kind of stood out to them, I guess. Anyway, she told me that the song was true. That love starts with something small and blossoms into something huge and wonderful. And she said that someday I'd have it and then I'd understand."

Emma looked up to find that Snow's tears had spilled over and David now looked choked up as well. Defying his grandmother's orders, Henry threw himself across the sofa and cuddled up next to Emma. He latched onto her hand, raised her arm, and draped it around his shoulders. "She was right, you know," he murmured as he wrapped his arms around her waist. "You do have love now."

"I know, Henry," she whispered, squeezing his shoulders a little tighter. She met her parents' eyes before giving them both a tiny smile. "I know."

She held onto her son for a long beat before letting him go and inhaling deeply through her nose. Well, as deeply as she could inhale through her nose, which, admittedly, was not very deeply at all. Henry let out a quiet laugh at her little groan and sat up straight. He didn't go back to the other end of the sofa, choosing instead to remain tucked up against his mother. Snow sighed but allowed the contact.

Emma cleared her throat, trying to find some way to get this story back on comfortable ground. "After we talked a little bit more, I asked her if she was going to rat me out for not participating. She said I was welcome in class for as long as I wanted to keep coming."

David smiled at her. "Did you ever end up singing anything?"

"Yeah," Emma admitted sheepishly. "It seems that chorus classes exist to prepare students for, you know, concerts. Participation at the concert counted as a test grade, so it was either go and sing or take a zero. Taking a zero in chorus because I didn't like to sing seemed stupid, so I sang. After the concert, the music teacher told me I had a pretty voice and she wished I would sing more. I told her she was lucky she got that much."

Snow raised her eyebrows at her daughter. "I'm surprised she let you get away with talking to her like that."

"I wasn't mean about it," Emma shrugged. "I think my sass amused her."

David chuckled. "I'm sure it did."

"Is that sarcasm?" Emma asked with a mock affronted look.

"Not at all. Your sass is delightful." He winked, causing Emma to smile back despite herself.

"I still don't know that song," Henry said after a moment of silence had passed. "The one you liked in your class, I mean."

"And I'm still not singing it for you," Emma reminded him. Henry wrinkled his nose in disappointment. "If you want to get me my phone, I'll try to find a video of it. That's all you're going to get, kid. Take it or leave it."

Since he was obviously not going to trick Emma into singing, Henry got up from the couch and set off in search of Emma's phone. "I'm sorry," she murmured to her parents when he was out of earshot. "I remembered that story being funnier than it was."

"There's no need to apologize, Emma," Snow assured her. She exchanged a glance with her husband, who nodded at her. "When Charming said we want to know, he didn't mean just the funny things. We want to hear everything. We want to know how you became the lovely, wonderful, amazing woman sitting in front of us."

Well, damn it, now Emma's eyes were welling up. This wasn't fair! She was sick! How could she be expected to keep her emotions in proper check when she felt this rotten? This was another thing she needed to nip in the bud. Right now. "Noted. Now someone else needs to tell a story that's actually funny because I'm sick and I say so."

"But I thought you weren't sick," David teased.

"If it'll get me something, damn straight I'm sick."

"I can tell a funny story," Henry said as he ran back to the couch with Emma's phone in hand, "but I want to hear the song first."

Emma sighed as she took her phone from his hand. "You better make us laugh a lot, kid, because I failed quite miserably in that department."

"And what if I don't?" Henry challenged, grinning.

"There will be consequences," Emma replied without looking up from her phone.

"What kind of consequences?"

"Tickle consequences," David broke in, making Emma grin.

Henry gasped in mock horror. "No! Not tickle consequences!"

"Then you'd better be stand-up-comedy funny, kid," Emma replied. She started the video she'd found and handed the phone over to her son.

"Tickle consequences aren't just for Henry," David said, his little wink at Snow betraying the solemnity of his voice. "Tickle consequences are for everyone."

Emma arched a brow at her father. "I'm only saying this once, just to give you fair warning: everyone who has ever tried to tickle me has ended up with my elbow in their face."

Snow burst out laughing. "Why on earth does that not surprise me?"


	3. Chapter 3

Since the person who had elected tell the next story was busy watching a video, Emma actually had a free couple of minutes to use for her own purposes. Which was really freaking awesome, because she was beginning to feel a little claustrophobic and needed to get up for a minute or two. She threw the blanket off her legs and slowly pushed herself off the couch.

"Where do you think you're going?" Snow asked, her voice filled with concern. She stood up as well and held out her hands to steady her daughter, who was, admittedly, just a tiny bit wobbly on her feet.

_Goddamned cold_, Emma thought. "I have to use the bathroom," she grumbled as she pushed her mother's hands away. "And I don't care how sick I am, I do _not_ need you to come with me."

Snow gave a sheepish nod before sitting back down. As soon as she was sure Snow had backed off, Emma heaved a sigh and shuffled unsteadily to the bathroom.

The second their daughter was out of earshot, David leaned over and murmured to his wife in warning, "You're annoying her."

"I'm her mother," Snow replied with a shrug. "If I don't annoy her sometimes, I'm not doing my job properly."

"She's not really all that mad," Henry spoke up without looking away from Emma's phone. "On some level, she likes that you're taking care of her. She just doesn't know how to deal with it so she gets mad instead."

Snow exchanged a smile with her husband. There was a lot of wisdom in that little eleven-year-old's head. "How did you get to be so smart?" she asked her grandson, her voice gentle.

That finally made him look up, a teasing grin on his lips. "It's in my genes."

"What's in your genes?" Emma asked. She had emerged from the bathroom and was heading back to the sofa. Her cheeks were flushed but the rest of her face seemed to be paler than before, which sent Snow's concern into overdrive. She just barely forced herself to remain seated while Emma got herself situated on the couch, tucking the blanket back in place around her legs.

"Being smart," Henry replied with a smile. Emma gave him a confused look but before she had the chance to ask him what brought that comment on, he handed the phone back to her. "I can see why you liked that song. It _is_ pretty. I like how it started out really quiet and gradually got louder."

Emma returned his smile as she placed the phone on the cushion next to her. She might as well keep it handy; what if they needed it again to settle a good-natured dispute or something? "I believe it's your turn to tell a story, kid."

"Not yet, Henry," Snow interrupted, making Henry's excited face fall slightly. Ignoring the questioning looks from her entire family, Snow grasped the glass she'd given Emma with her cold pills and took it to the kitchen sink. After filling it, she carried it back to the sofa and handed it to her daughter. "You need to drink. Or eat. I'm not sure which yet, so we'll start with the liquids."

Emma's jaw dropped open in indignation. "I do not need you to tell me–"

"Look at your hands," Snow gently interrupted. Emma did as instructed and was shocked to find her hands trembling. "So unless you had another inner ear episode while you were in the bathroom, you need to drink."

Without another word of argument, Emma began taking careful sips of water.

"That's the second time you've mentioned an inner ear thing," Henry said, turning a frown on his grandmother. "What's going on?"

"Nothing," Emma assured him. "I've gotten dizzy a couple of times this morning because of the congestion in my ears but it's nothing to be worried about, okay?"

"Okay." Despite being told there was no reason to worry, he was unable to shake off his concern and unconsciously shifted a little closer to his mother. Emma just as unconsciously closed the distance between her and Henry.

No matter how hard she tried, Snow just could not keep the two of them separated. Emma seemed to be taking extra precaution not to spread her illness, though, so Snow supposed she could let them seek comfort with each other. With any luck, Henry wouldn't end up catching Emma's cold. "Now, Henry, you may start your story."

"Finally!" he laughingly exclaimed, making David chuckle. "Who wants to hear about the time I kept a stray cat in my bedroom closet for like, a month?"

Emma almost spit out her water. "You kept a _cat_ secret from Regina, of all people, for that long?"

"Yup," Henry grinned, obviously quite pleased with himself.

"How on earth did you manage that?" David asked, grinning as well. Henry's enthusiasm was contagious, apparently.

"Hold on, Gramps," Henry laughed. "That's the middle of the story. Let me start at the beginning."

"It's a very good place to start," Emma spoke up with an amused snort. Her smirk turned into an annoyed frown when no one else got the joke. "Really? 'Do Re Mi' from _The Sound of Music_? Pop culture needs to become an actual thing around here."

Henry let out an impatient little huff. "Can I please just tell my story now?"

With a sheepish smile, Emma nodded, a silent go-ahead to start his story.

"_Thank_ you," Henry breathed. "_Anyway_, a couple summers ago, an orange cat started hanging out in the back yard. I don't know how he found us but I could tell he was hungry. Mom told me not to feed him because he would keep coming back if I did. I _wanted_ him to keep coming back but I didn't want her to find out I was feeding him, so I started making him toast."

"You fed a cat toast?" Snow asked, smiling at the innocence of the story thus far. "I didn't know cats liked toast."

"Morris seemed to like the toast," Henry said with a shrug. "It was the only thing I could cook by myself."

"Whoa, back up," Emma interrupted, shifting on the couch to face Henry. "You named an orange cat Morris?"

He shook his head. "I didn't name him Morris. Mom called him that back when he first started hanging out in the back yard. I guess the name kind of stuck."

"So, let me get this straight. _Regina_ makes pop culture references and her nicknames stick. _I_ make pop culture references and none of you ever know what the hell I'm talking about."

"What _are_ you talking about?" Snow asked her.

"An orange tabby cat named Morris sells cat food on TV commercials," Emma huffed, crossing her arms over her chest. "I really shouldn't have to explain this to you people. Naming an orange cat Morris is like naming a black and white beagle Snoopy."

Snow and David at least looked like they got it. Henry, on the other hand, still looked slightly confused. "There's a talking cat that sells cat food?"

"The cat doesn't talk. Well, not really. There are voiceovers, I think, but the point was … ugh, you know what?" She threw her hands up in exasperation. "Pretend I didn't say anything."

Henry gave her an apologetic smile before continuing on with his story. "It took a couple of weeks but Morris eventually trusted me enough to follow me into the house and up to my room. I kept him in a cardboard box in the closet. I took one of plastic cereal bowls from when I was little out of the kitchen cabinet and filled it with water for him, and I convinced Mom that I really liked tuna fish all of a sudden so I'd have something to feed him. I always cleaned up really well after I fed him because I didn't want Mom to find out."

"How did she end up finding out?" David asked, clearly amused by the notion of his grandson pulling a fast one on his mother.

At that, Henry blushed. "I was supposed to clean my room but I forgot. Mom went to clean out my closet – the bad way, where she got rid of everything I didn't use or need – and Morris hopped out of the box when she opened the door. I guess he startled her pretty good because I heard her yelling from downstairs." He giggled slightly at the mischief before sobering up enough to finish the story. "She made me take Morris to the animal shelter because she said a box in a closet wasn't a great home for a cat, and she's allergic so we couldn't keep him. She used to take me to visit him sometimes, though. She also grounded me for a week for letting the cat inside when she told me not to and for hiding him. It was totally worth it, though."

Everyone chuckled at Henry's proclamation. "Is Morris still there, do you think?" Emma asked her parents. "At the animal shelter, I mean."

David shook his head. "We could check but I remember a family coming in and adopting the only orange tabby in the place not long after I started working there."

"Sorry, kid," Emma said softly.

"It's okay," Henry assured her. "I'm glad he has a home now, even if it's not with me."

Emma returned his smile and once again rested her cheek against the top of his head. Out of her line of vision, Henry grinned at the display of physical affection. Apparently a sick Emma was a snuggly Emma. Far more snuggly than she usually was, at any rate.

She lifted her head after a beat and shifted position on the sofa, tucking her legs underneath herself and pulling the blanket up to her waist. "Your story reminded me of the time one of my foster brothers caught a garter snake in the back yard and tried to keep it in a shoebox under his bed. That did not go over well at all, let me tell you."

"Oh, gee, I can't imagine why not," Snow laughed before nudging her husband. "What about you? Did you ever try to bring any stray animals home as a boy?"

"I grew up on a farm," he reminded her. "I never wanted for animals, and any strays that wandered onto our property sort of got adopted into the nuttiness by silent agreement." Both Emma and Henry were staring at him in wonder, undoubtedly trying to picture David as a little kid running amongst an entire farm full of animals. "What about you? Any strays make their way into the castle?"

"My father and I once mended a robin's wing," Snow nodded. "I found her on the grounds and knew right away she was hurt. That was when I first discovered I could sort of understand birds."

"Understand?" Emma asked, her brows raised. "Like in the Enchanted Forest?"

"Not exactly. There wasn't actual communication, not like you saw with the bird Cora sent." Out of the corner of her eye, she saw David raise his eyebrows as well. Emma now appeared confused while Henry just looked fascinated. "I somehow instinctively knew what the bird needed, and she seemed to know that she could trust me. We took her into the castle while she recuperated and then let her go. I swear I used to see her in the trees at the edge of the castle grounds for years after that."

Now Emma looked just as fascinated as Henry. Snow smiled at the wonder on her daughter's face before gently asking, "How about you? Did you ever try to bring any animals inside?"

"Not really," Emma shrugged. "Most of the time, we didn't dare. 'We've got enough mouths to feed' was something I heard frequently. Sometimes I'd get placed with a family that had pets, though."

Suddenly, her eyes widened. "Oh, wait! One of my foster fathers did help me make a little caterpillar house out of a mason jar. I was about five, maybe. He drilled holes in the lid and told me to make sure I kept giving the caterpillar leaves to eat. I must have done something right because imagine my surprise when the cute little caterpillar disappeared and this gorgeous yellow butterfly took its place. That's actually how I learned that caterpillars become butterflies. I remember thinking that the butterfly was way too pretty to keep in a jar, so I asked my foster father to help me let it go."

"Aww," Henry cried, grinning up at his mother. "That's so cute!"

Snow swallowed a laugh as a rush of pink colored her poor sick daughter's pale cheeks. This blush, Snow knew, had nothing to do with her illness. "Oh, shush," Emma grumbled, nudging her son. "It is not cute."

"Sorry, Emma," David said, winking at Henry, "I happen to agree with my grandson. That story was adorable."

Emma looked to her mother for backup. Unfortunately for her, Snow agreed with the boys. "Cute doesn't even begin to cover it."

Emma scowled as she crossed her arms over her chest. Snow exchanged an amused glance with David and was instantly able to tell that they were both on the same page. Neither one of them dared tell their daughter that the very act of protesting her cuteness was in itself rather cute.


	4. Chapter 4

Emma swore she could not swallow another sip of water. After successfully drinking two full glasses, her throat was on _fire._ Since drinking anything else was not in the cards at the moment, Emma set the glass down on the floor in front of the sofa. The action caught Snow's attention, and Emma groaned inwardly when her mother stood up from her seat.

"You still look really pale," Snow murmured, appraising her daughter through narrowed eyes. She reached out and pressed the back of her hand against Emma's forehead to check for her fever. Emma rolled her eyes but didn't even bother trying to argue. It wouldn't have done any good anyway. "You still feel warm, too."

"You know, there's this nifty little thing called a thermometer," Emma said dryly, wincing slightly at the burning in her throat. "They're even digital now. Easy to read; you don't have to squint to try to find where the mercury ended anymore."

"You've been drinking cold water," Snow reminded her with an indulgent smile. "The thermometer wouldn't give an accurate reading."

"Oh, and feeling my forehead is so much more accurate?"

A sigh escaped Snow's lips at her daughter's playful belligerence. "From the scratchiness of your voice, it sounds like it might be time for another dose of cold medicine, and I could very easily get you the nighttime pills ..."

Emma's eyes widened. She was pretty sure her mother was above drugging her up with nighttime cold meds but she would rather not take the chance, thank you very much. "I'll shut up now."

Henry swallowed a snicker at his mother's tone. She sounded very much like a scolded child promising to be good from now on. David caught his grandson's eye and winked, making Henry's giggle slip out in earnest.

"Do you think you're ready to try some food?" Snow asked, recapturing Emma's attention. "I just don't think the water's doing enough for you."

Emma scrunched her nose, whimpering. This cold was seriously messing with her sense of taste. She'd discovered that when she ate the ice cream earlier. The ice cream had tasted … not bad, exactly. Just not right. Plus, her throat really freaking hurt and the thought of trying to swallow food was not a pleasant one.

"I could heat up some soup," Snow offered gently.

Oh, hot soup sounded like it would be wonderful on her throat, just as wonderful as the ice cream had been earlier. Emma nodded at her mother with a grateful and sheepish smile.

Snow returned her daughter's smile and headed to the kitchen, figuring she might as well heat up enough soup for the whole family. It was, after all, almost lunchtime.

A moment later, David pushed himself to his feet as well. "I'll be right back," he said, surprising Emma by giving her knee a gentle pat as he walked past.

With Snow in the kitchen and David heading for the bathroom, Henry apparently took it upon himself to keep the conversation going. "You know what used to make me feel better when I was sick?"

"What's that?" Emma asked, smiling down at her son.

"Piling all my stuffed animals in bed with me. This was when I was really little, of course."

"Of course," Emma repeated, biting back an amused grin. God forbid an eleven-year-old boy admit to taking comfort in stuffed animals when he was sick.

"Mom used to tell me the toys would catch my germs and then they'd make me sick all over again but sometimes it was the only way I could go to sleep," he said somewhat sheepishly. "When I started feeling better again, she'd put all the toys in a pillowcase and run them through the wash."

Emma's smile grew wider as she wrapped her arm around her little boy's shoulders and gave him a light squeeze. At least Regina's remark that she'd soothed all of Henry's fevers had been based in truth.

"Did you have anything that made you feel better when you were sick?" Henry asked, looking up at her as he snuggled closer to her side.

Before Emma had a chance to answer, David returned to the living area carrying two pills in one hand and a little cup of water in the other. He wordlessly held the items out to his daughter, who took them from him with a wary frown. "Before you ask," he smirked, "no, it's not the sleepytime stuff."

She smirked back. "Thanks." The one word burned her throat, making her flinch. _All right_, she thought with an internal groan, _this stupid cold can go away at any time now_.

David sent her a sympathetic smile as he took the Dixie cup from her hand and took it to the kitchen to throw it away for her.

Even through her congestion, Emma could smell the warm and comforting aroma of hot chicken soup filling the air. By the time Snow ladled out a large portion and brought the bowl over to the sofa, Emma's mouth was watering.

Well, at least she had some semblance of an appetite. That was a good thing, she supposed. If only her taste buds weren't lying down on the job.

Still, the soup was hot and did wonders for her throat. It was only after David returned with soup for himself and Henry and Snow reclaimed her seat with a bowl of her own that Emma realized she hadn't answered Henry's question. "My baby blanket," she murmured in Henry's direction, trying not to let her parents hear.

Of course, with the congestion in her ears, she couldn't properly gauge how loud her voice actually was. Snow, who'd heard both Henry's question a few minutes earlier and Emma's response, looked at her daughter in surprise. "What?"

Emma heaved a sigh. There went trying to keep this little story quiet. "I used to use my baby blanket for comfort when I was sick," she admitted, squirming uncomfortably on the couch. "There's nothing like being sick to make you want your parents. When you're a kid, I mean." And sometimes as an adult, too, not that she would ever admit _that_ out loud. "I'd wrap the blanket around my shoulders and I would just … feel closer to you guys, I guess." She shrugged as if to say her admission was no big deal before returning her attention to her soup, not at all prepared to face both the love and pain she was sure were written across her parents' features.

She should have known neither of them would take it in stride. Snow reached out, grasped her hand, and squeezed. Emma squeezed back and gave her mother a little smile. David settled for giving her knee another gentle pat, which for some reason sent tears to her eyes.

Okay, this being sick thing was really screwing with her emotions.

The one silver lining of her damn cold was that she could use her runny nose as an excuse for her sniffle. By the time she spoke again, she'd swallowed the tears and regained enough control to speak without her voice trembling. "One of my first foster mothers gave me a little plush cat, and I'd take that to bed with me sometimes, too." She smiled at Henry. "So I understand the comforting power of stuffed animals."

He smiled back at her around a mouthful of soup. "This is good, Gramma," he said after he'd swallowed.

"Thank you, but unfortunately the credit goes to Progresso this time, not me," Snow admitted. Homemade soup took hours to simmer – much longer than Emma's sore throat would allow – so she'd had to settle for serving soup from the can.

Emma dragged her spoon through her soup, wishing she could taste things properly. The only thing she was getting out of the meal right now was that it was hot.

"Is it helping your throat at all, Emma?" David asked.

"It is," she nodded before giving a little smile in her mother's direction. "Thanks."

Snow smiled back. "If you want, I could run out and get you some of that throat spray."

Emma vehemently shook her head as Henry made a fake gagging noise. "That stuff is awful!" he cried in horror. "It tastes absolutely terrible."

God, did it ever. That spray did indeed numb the throat like nobody's business, but it tasted like utter garbage. The bottle may have said the liquid was flavored with cherry, but the bottle friggin' lied. "I'll stick with the soup and the ice cream and the throat drops, thanks," Emma replied.

"If you're sure ..."

"I'm positive. The ice cream and soup are doing the same thing the spray would do and are far more pleasant experiences."

Snow shook her head while biting back a smile. She couldn't imagine how a young Emma had reacted to being sick if an adult Emma was this argumentative.

"What about you, Gramma?" Henry asked. He'd finished his soup and set the bowl and spoon on the floor. He pulled his feet up on the sofa, wrapping his arms around his legs. "What made you feel better when you were sick?"

"My mother's lullabies," Snow replied, her voice soft. "She had a lovely singing voice and she and I would sing together all the time. Something about her songs was extra comforting when I was sick, though. I'd just let her sing me to sleep and I would always feel better when I woke up."

Emma smiled almost dreamily at her mother's story. What she wouldn't have given as a little girl to have someone sing to her. _Oh, wait!_ she thought, giving a light chuckle at the sudden memory. "One of my foster mothers liked to sing. She had a terrible voice but she didn't let that stop her at all. She was always either singing or humming … in the car and the shower and when cooking dinner or making lunches. She really liked to sing softly to us when any of us were sick, and for whatever reason, the song she always chose as a lullaby was 'Up On the Roof.' Most of the other kids would pretend they'd fallen asleep just so she would go away. I never did, though. It didn't matter to me how awful her voice was. She was the only one who ever sang to me."

Aw, crap. Once again, she'd veered into awkward territory. _Damn_ it. "How about you?" she asked her father before anyone could get react to her story.

Thankfully, David seemed to understand what she was doing and went right along with it for her sake. "Wool blankets," he answered, smiling nostalgically. "Wool is itchy as hell but it's also heavy and warm. At the slightest sign of illness, my mother would wrap me in wool blankets. I can't really explain why but I always felt like I was in the safest place in the world."

Emma smiled as well. That did sound wonderfully safe. She went to spoon some more soup into her mouth and was surprised when metal scraped porcelain. Had she really eaten the whole bowl already? "I guess I did need to eat."

"I guess so," Snow agreed as she slipped the bowl from her daughter's hand. "There's a little more color in your cheeks, too. How are you feeling?"

"A little better," she answered honestly, though she couldn't resist one more little jibe. "Not that I'm all that sick in the first place." And then, as if on cue, she sneezed.

David and Henry chuckled, while Snow simply shook her head. "You keep telling yourself that, sweetie," she teased, a grin on her lips.


	5. Chapter 5

"Oh my God, gym class was _torture_!" Emma groaned as Henry nodded vigorously in agreement. "Whose bright idea was that? Let's take a bunch of kids who may or may not like each other and force them to play games where they can throw things at each other. Yeah, that's really smart."

Snow had to bite her lower lip to keep from laughing out loud. Talk had somehow turned to everyone's least favorite subject in school. Henry had mentioned gym with a look of utter disgust on his face, and Emma had wholeheartedly agreed. Though Snow protested the inclusion of gym class as a subject, per se, she couldn't deny how much a part of this world's early academic culture physical education happened to be.

Besides, when she'd tried to argue that gym didn't count as a subject, Emma had told her that anything a student received a grade in counted as a subject as far as she was concerned. Arguing semantics would interrupt Emma's admittedly amusing rant on the evils of gym class, so Snow conceded the point to her daughter.

"Kids are cruel and far too immature to wield the kind of power gym class gives them," Emma continued. "Then there are the possible injuries to contend with, says the girl who sprained her ankle playing indoor soccer in gym."

"You what?" David asked. His eyes, once sparkling with amusement, were now tinged with concern even though Emma's injury had happened years before and she was clearly no worse for the wear.

"I went to steal the ball from a kid on the other team and kicked his foot instead of the ball," Emma admitted sheepishly. "He went down, I went down. He got right back up but it was a few minutes before I could put weight on my ankle. The doctor said I was lucky I hadn't broken it. Which reminds me: sometimes gym class creates a perfect storm where an immature kid causes an injury, like the time I actually did break my finger playing basketball."

Snow sat up a little straighter, concern and anger replacing the humor she'd felt only moments ago. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Charming do the same. This child who had broken their baby girl's finger was lucky that neither Snow nor David knew where he or she lived. "Someone hurt you on purpose?" David asked, fury clear as a bell in his tone.

All of a sudden, Emma's expression changed. The sarcasm and amused annoyance faded before morphing into regret, and it wasn't the first time today such a change had happened. Snow took it as a good sign, though, that Emma kept talking even after she realized she'd taken the discussion in a direction she hadn't planned. The Emma who first arrived in Storybrooke – hell, even the Emma from a few weeks ago when the curse first broke – would have shut the conversation down instead of continuing.

"It was partly my fault, too," Emma said in an effort to quell her parents' rising anger. "I was in eighth grade, in my second new school of the year. I hadn't really been there long enough to give anyone a reason to dislike me, yet Bridget Halloran _hated_ me. Not that I cared; in fact, if this hadn't happened, I probably wouldn't even remember her name. The gym teacher paired us all off to practice bounce passes, and he paired me with Bridget. For a few minutes, everything was fine, but then out of the blue, she jammed the ball at me. I stupidly tried to catch it anyway and the damn thing bent my fingers back."

Snow could tell from David's posture that he was silently fuming. She rested her hand on his knee, a gentle reminder to calm down. It had all happened years ago and, painful as it was to acknowledge, nothing could be done about it now.

"It hurt like hell but I didn't think anything of it until I tried to pick up my textbook in my next class and dropped it," Emma continued. "My middle finger was broken. Since they can't cast a finger, I had to wear this really uncomfortable splint and keep my middle and ring fingers taped together so the break would heal straight." She looked up, met her parents' eyes, and cringed at the anger and sadness still in their eyes. "At least I had a medical excuse for continually flipping Bridget off."

It was one of her more blatant attempts at lightening the mood but it worked. Henry giggled while Snow and David both relaxed, little smiles on their faces.

"Don't worry, though, kid," Emma said, locking eyes with her son. "Gym eventually becomes fun. I didn't mind it at all in high school. I discovered that I was a surprisingly good goalie in floor hockey and a decent server in volleyball."

"You mean I have to wait until_ high school_ for it to get fun?" Henry cried, his voice verging on a whine. "That's so far away!"

"It'll be here before you know it," Emma told him somewhat sadly.

"Yeah, and then you can teach me how to drive!"

At that, everyone laughed. It seemed Henry was picking up his mother's tendency to make jokes in order to lighten the conversation. "Driving lessons are still a few years off," Emma chuckled. "Let's not rush things, okay?"

Henry crossed his arms over his chest but his expression was playful. "It just would be nice to have a form of transportation other than my bike."

"You already have one," David teased. "They're called feet."

"But walking takes so _long_!"

"We could split the difference and I could teach you how to roller skate," Emma offered.

Snow smiled at her. "You know how to roller skate?"

"I used to, anyway," Emma shrugged. "Haven't done it in years, but I assume it's like riding a bike."

"Mom tried to take me rollerblading once," Henry said.

Emma raised her eyebrows in surprise and then snickered. "I would pay good money to see Regina on rollerblades."

Snow hid a smile as she watched Emma slouch against the pillow propped up against the arm of the sofa. It seemed she was finally getting tired, though she was desperately trying to fight it.

Henry launched into the story, gesturing animatedly with his hands as he spoke. "I begged her and begged her and _begged_ her to get me rollerblades. She kept saying no, so imagine my surprise when I came home from school one day and found she had bought a pair for each of us. She thought we could learn together."

Snow smiled at that, too. Like Emma, she enjoyed hearing about the fun things Regina had done with Henry.

"I was fine on the grass but once we got down to the driveway, I couldn't stay standing. She wasn't much better. We both fell down so much that we tore holes in the knees of our pants."

"Wait a second," Emma interrupted. "_Regina_ actually owns a pair of going-out-to-play pants?"

"Not anymore," Henry reminded her. "I just said she tore holes in the knees, remember?" Snow and David snickered when Emma rolled her eyes at herself. "Anyway, it got to the point that we were both standing there holding onto her car for dear life and afraid to let go. I looked up at her and said maybe I didn't need to learn how to rollerblade after all. I could tell she was really relieved when I said that."

"All right, so maybe roller skating is out," David said, chuckling. "Looks like you're stuck, Henry."

"Aw, man," Henry muttered in mock disappointment, making everyone else giggle. "Who taught you how to roller skate, Mom?"

"An older girls in one of my foster homes named Christine," Emma said. "We found two old pairs of skates hidden in the back of one of the closets and they just so happened to be our sizes. When I told her I didn't know how to skate, she said she'd teach me." She smiled down at Henry. "I fell down a lot, too."

Henry smiled back, grateful for the confirmation that he wasn't the only one who'd had trouble staying upright. "But you eventually got good at it?"

"I wouldn't have won any competitions or anything, but I could move at a decent clip and then stop without falling over, yeah." She hid a yawn behind her hand and then flinched, most likely from the soreness of her throat.

Snow observed her daughter with a slight shake of her head. Emma was so amazingly stubborn, refusing medicine she clearly needed and fighting the rest her body was obviously craving. Unfortunately for Emma, Snow could be just as stubborn and had no problem waiting her out. Sooner or later, she would have to give in, though whether she accepted the medicine or the sleep remained to be seen.

She didn't have to wait long. Talk eventually turned back to school, and David took up the story torch. When he told his family that his mother had given him his lessons after he did his chores on the farm, Henry said, "So you were home-schooled."

Everyone chuckled. "We didn't have that term for it," David smiled, "but yes, I guess I was."

He continued with his story, and Snow divided her attention between her husband and her daughter. Within a few minutes, Emma was fighting sleep and fighting hard, rubbing her eyes and squirming on the sofa in an effort to keep herself from getting too comfortable. Snow smiled to herself, figuring it wouldn't be long at all until Emma finally gave up the fight.

Barely five minutes later, Henry whispered, "Gramma." Snow darted her gaze to the couch and couldn't help the smile that lit her face. Emma's head was nodding, her eyes closed. Snow looked to her grandson, put her finger to her lips, and winked. Henry grinned and returned her wink, amusement lighting his eyes.

By the time David finished the story, Emma was slouched in the corner of the sofa, head resting against the back of the couch, eyes closed, and breathing even. Still, she looked uncomfortable, so Snow decided to chance whispering, "Emma, lie down."

Emma wrinkled her nose and gave a slight shake of her without opening her eyes. Despite her refusal, she didn't struggle when Snow helped her lie down so that her head was resting on the pillow. She fidgeted in an effort to get comfortable and then went still.

Snow let out a breath of relief before glancing up and meeting Henry's smiling eyes. "Are you sure you didn't give her the sleepytime stuff, Gramps?" the boy asked as Snow drew the blanket around Emma's shoulders.

"I swear it wasn't me," David replied, his hands raised in surrender.

"It's all her," Snow assured him. "She's sick and needs the rest, whether she wants to admit it or not." She turned to her husband with a smirk. "I wouldn't put it past her to insist that you must have accidentally given her the nighttime meds when she wakes up, though. The girl is stubborn beyond belief."

"Of course she is," David smiled back. "She's our daughter. Stubborn is in her DNA."


	6. Chapter 6

Emma slept fitfully despite her obvious exhaustion. If Snow had to guess, she would bet her daughter's restlessness was due in no small part to her current inability to breathe through her nose.

Henry had vacated the sofa after a few too many kicks to his leg, though he insisted he just wanted Emma to be able to make herself comfortable. He now sat cross-legged on the floor, staring at his grandmother in rapt attention as she described the tutoring sessions that had served as her education when she was a little girl.

"So, wait, you had a private tutor?" Henry asked, his voice low in amazement.

Out of the corner of her eye, Snow caught David biting his lower lip to hide his amusement the disparity of Henry's descriptions. Charming was "home-schooled" while Snow had learned from a "private tutor."

"Yes," Snow replied, fighting to hide a grin of her own, "though we didn't call her a private tutor. She was technically my governess, but I just called her Miss Samantha."

Henry's brow knotted as he tried to imagine Snow as a young princess being taught her ABCs. "Did you have like, a classroom?"

Snow nodded. "Lessons were held in a room in the castle used solely for that purpose. It did feel kind of like a classroom, I guess, though at the time I didn't know any different. She must have had a lesson plan of some kind, too, because she taught each subject at the same time every day."

"Did she do the same kinds of things with you that you did with us?"

"Similar things," Snow smiled. "The curriculum in this world teaches subjects our world never did but it goes both ways. Miss Samantha taught subjects this world doesn't. I remember lessons in reading, writing, art, music, math, etiquette–"

Henry giggled. "Etiquette?"

"Oh, of course!" Snow told him with mock seriousness. She jokingly sat up a little straighter and clasped her hands in her lap. "How could I learn to be a proper young princess if I didn't have etiquette lessons?"

David tried to stifle a snicker but he didn't catch it quite fast enough. Snow narrowed her eyes before elbowing him in the ribs, a tiny, amused grin on her lips. "Hey!" he laughingly cried, his hand flying to the spot she'd elbowed. Henry giggled at his grandparents' display. "I wasn't laughing at you! Although, when I met you, you were far from a proper young princess."

"Due to circumstances beyond my control, my dear Charming," she gently reminded him.

"I know," he told her just as gently, grasping her hand and threading their fingers together. "But like I said, I wasn't laughing at you. I was laughing at the thought of Emma having to sit through etiquette lessons."

All three of them chuckled at that. Oh, Snow didn't even want to imagine the fuss a young Emma likely would have put up if she'd had to attend etiquette lessons. "Something tells me she would have given us a run for our money," she murmured.

"Indeed she would have," David smiled. He squeezed his wife's hand as he followed her gaze to their sleeping daughter. "Do you think she's grasped it yet? That she's a princess?"

Snow smirked. "Not at all."

Henry's eyes had been darting from one grandparent to the other but now he focused on his grandmother, a confused frown on his face. "But she knows you're Snow White and Prince Charming."

"Yes, but she's also had her entire world turned upside down over the past few weeks," Snow reminded him. "I just don't think she's had the time to work out all the implications, like the fact that her parents are royalty, which means she's royalty, too."

Sudden comprehension lit the boy's eyes. After a beat, he offered, "I could give her hints."

Both David and Snow chuckled. "No, that's not necessary," Snow said lightly. The boy wasn't exactly awash in subtlety, especially when he was excited. Poor Emma would more than likely end up dodging anvils if he decided to start dropping hints. Not to mention that Emma was doing surprisingly well with everything so far and Snow didn't want this to be the one thing that sent her over the proverbial edge. "She'll figure it out when she's ready, though I must admit I really want to see the look on her face when she does."

Both boys grinned at her. "I do, too," David said, squeezing her hand one final time before releasing it.

"So what else did you do in your lessons, Gramma?" Henry asked, steering the conversation back on track.

Snow thought back to her days as a young girl and tried to remember what other classes she had. "Miss Samantha taught me to dance – preparation for balls – and we took walks around the castle grounds so I could learn to identify various plants, animals, and birds."

"That sounds like so much fun!" Henry said dreamily. "Not the dancing stuff but the nature-walk stuff."

"Some days it was fun," Snow allowed, smiling at Henry, "but some days it was like … well, school. Don't let the setting fool you. Lessons were just as much a drudgery for me as school is for any child."

"Did you have homework?"

"Yes, although we didn't really have a name for it. I had worksheets and exercises I was expected to do on my own and hand in the next day. I also had tests, quizzes, and essays."

At that, Henry wrinkled his nose. "Yuck. Now it sounds like school."

"I think homework is a universal constant," David chuckled. "I had homework, too."

"Ugh!" Henry laughingly covered his face with his hands. "There's no getting away from it!"

"Unfortunately, no," Snow laughed. "It lets the teachers know that the students can do the work on their own and that they are in fact learning the material."

"Um, Gramma?" Henry broke in. "You're doing that whole explaining school rules thing again."

Snow gave him a sheepish smile. "Sorry. Teacher habits die hard, I guess."

"It's okay," Henry laughed as he got to his feet. "I'm thirsty. Anyone else want something to drink?"

Neither of his grandparents wanted anything but before heading off to the kitchen, Henry grabbed Emma's half-empty glass from the end table to refresh it for her. Snow stood up herself, a smile on her lips at Henry's caring gesture, and approached the sofa. She gently rested her hand on Emma's forehead to feel for her fever. _Still warm_, she thought, brushing her fingers over Emma's cheek.

Suddenly, Emma turned her head into her mother's touch, nestling her cheek against Snow's palm. Snow gasped, her heart exploding with love and joy. Unconscious though it was, her baby girl was seeking comfort from her. Her smile grew wider as she ran her thumb up and down Emma's cheek. Then she carefully withdrew her hand before the contact could wake Emma.

"She all right?" David murmured.

"Yes," Snow replied, standing up straight, "though her fever seems to be just as stubborn as she is."

Just as David opened his mouth to reply, Emma whimpered. The tiny, pained sound tore through Snow's heart.

Before she had a chance to think better of it, she crouched down next to the couch, humming softly to soothe her daughter. Emma calmed for a moment, then began shifting position under the blanket. In response to Emma's growing agitation, Snow's quiet humming turned to soft singing.

It was a song she only knew from her time as Mary Margaret. She had no idea why it was the first one that entered her head but she went with it. "_When the lights go down in the city, and the sun shines on the bay_–"

"Seriously?" Emma interrupted, her voice thick with sleep. She blinked her eyes open and blearily squinted up at her mother. "You're trying to make a lullaby out of Journey?"

Snow cringed inwardly. Apparently Emma had been waking up, not restless. "Would you have preferred 'Rock-a-bye Baby?'" she asked without missing a beat. Henry, who had just set Emma's water glass on the end table, hid a snicker behind his hand.

"I didn't need a lullaby at all," Emma muttered, rolling her eyes as she struggled to sit up. "I'm not five years old."

Snow smirked as she pushed herself to her feet. "Do you really think I could let a woman with a horrible voice be the only one to sing to my daughter?"

Emma froze, then pointedly ignored her mother's last question and focused instead on getting herself situated. It was only after she repositioned the blanket around her legs that she seemed to realize she'd been asleep and someone – her mother, most likely – had tucked her in. "Oh God," she groaned, running a hand over her face. "Which one of you gave me the nighttime stuff?"

David smirked and Snow bit her lip to keep from smiling. "You should have put money on it, Gramma," Henry laughed.

Snow hid another smile at her daughter's perplexed expression. Taking advantage of the fact that Emma was still half-asleep, Snow grabbed the thermometer from the end table and handed it to her. "You need to take your temperature again. It's been a while since we've been able to get an accurate reading."

Emma heaved a sigh but did as instructed, sticking the tip of the thermometer under her tongue. When it beeped, she handed the device over to her mother. Considering Snow would have snatched it from her anyway, she figured she might as well save everyone some aggravation. "Now that _that's_ out of the way, you can't tell me you've all been sitting here in silence for ..." She glanced up at the clock. "Ugh, an hour. What'd I miss?"

"Princesses have to go to school, too," Henry told her, nodding sagely.

Snow smiled down at her grandson before turning off the thermometer. Her daughter's fever would not budge in the slightest. At least it hadn't risen; that was something, she supposed. She briefly debated getting some washcloths to use as makeshift compresses but ultimately decided against it. Some little internal voice told her that Emma's already tenuous patience with the hovering mom thing would end if Snow forced her to lie down with a cool compress on her forehead.

Instead she went to the bathroom to retrieve more cold medicine – the daytime formulation, of course. When she walked back into the living area, Emma was sipping the water Henry had brought her. Snow gave the pills to Emma, who swallowed them down with a flinch. "Are you feeling any better?"

"A little," Emma shrugged, setting her glass back on the table. "You guys couldn't have just talked about princesses going to school. What else did I miss?"

"Everyone gets homework," Henry added. He waited until Emma settled a bit before snuggling up next to her. "And you kick in your sleep."

The smile that curled on Emma's lips was at the same time sheepish and apologetic. "Yeah, well, _some_ people talk in their sleep," she said with a pointed gaze at her son.

"I do not!" he giggled.

"Do too. You woke me up one night because you were babbling about horses and kites." When Henry blushed, Emma smiled and wrapped her arm around his shoulders. "I'm sorry if I hurt you when I kicked you."

"You didn't," he assured her.

She held him a moment longer before letting him out of the embrace and turning to her mother. "So what's this about a princess school? Was everyone who went there a princess?"

David swallowed a laugh. "In a manner of speaking," Snow said, making Henry giggle.

Emma pouted, clearly annoyed that she wasn't in on the joke. "This is why I didn't want to fall asleep."

"Aw, poor baby," Henry teased.

She looked down at him with an aggravated glare. "You're lucky that you're my kid. Anyone else who said something like that to me would get a smack upside the head."

The entire family, save Emma, started to laugh. "That doesn't surprise me, either," Snow said, smiling widely at her daughter.


	7. Chapter 7

Though Emma had napped for a little over an hour, it hadn't been nearly long enough. That was the other reason she hadn't wanted to fall asleep. She always felt groggier after waking from a nap than when she went to sleep, and this afternoon was no exception.

To someone less stubborn, the fact that her eyes were burning would have been the first indication to give up the fight, go upstairs, and crawl into bed. The fire in her throat and the incessant sneezing would have been more indications, but Emma simply regarded it all as a challenge.

She'd propped her head up on her hand for support, her elbow digging into the back of the sofa. She hadn't realized her eyes had slid shut again until Henry said, "Mom?"

"Hmm?" she asked, dragging her eyes open.

"Have you ever been on a roller coaster?"

Well, now she was certainly wide awake. She lifted her head, wondering where on earth could this line of questioning could possibly be headed. "Yeah. Why?"

"Because I never have and I was wondering if you thought I would like it."

She blinked at him in slight confusion. How had Henry survived eleven years on this planet without ever going on a roller coaster? She didn't think he had a problem with heights, so that wouldn't have kept him off one. And sure, some people didn't care for roller coasters but generally one had to go on a roller coaster to discover that in the first place.

A moment later, it hit her: he'd never had the opportunity to go on a roller coaster. Regina hadn't been able to leave Storybrooke to take him to even a local amusement park, and something told Emma that traveling carnivals had never stopped here, either.

The realization left her unbelievably sad. By being trapped in this one little town his whole life, her poor son had missed out on so much childhood. "Roller coasters are all right," she shrugged, downplaying how she really felt about the rides for Henry's benefit. Her next statements, however, were true. "Some people love them, some people hate them. Personally, I'd rather go on the Tilt-a-Whirl."

She was met with three blank stares. Oh, right. _None_ of her family members knew what any of these rides were or how they worked. The first thing she was going to do if and when everyone could get out of Storybrooke was plan a day trip to an amusement park. Maybe to Old Orchard Beach or something, just so her family could experience some real-world culture and real-world fun.

After a couple of sneezes and a quick blowing of her nose, Emma sat back and prepared for a bit of storytelling. "First of all, the Tilt-a-Whirl is one of the greatest rides in the history of rides. You sit in these cars that kind of look like half an egg. The cars are on a track that goes around in a circle but also has little hills and valleys. Each car is attached to the track at a pivot point so the cars spin around as the track moves."

"Sounds … interesting," Snow said with her eyebrows raised.

David looked like he was sort of getting it but both Snow and Henry still looked lost. Emma grabbed her phone and tried to find a picture of the ride so they at least had some idea what the thing looked like. She found one and handed the phone to her father with a smile, figuring he'd get the hint and pass it around. "Because of all the ways the car can move, no two rides are ever the same. The unpredictability is what makes it so fun. Like the name implies, if you can get everyone to lean into the turns, you can sometimes get the car spinning so fast that you get pinned against the back of it. It's a _blast_."

Snow and David exchanged an amused glance as he handed the cell phone over to her. "That actually does sound like fun," Snow said, smiling at her daughter. "If you like to spin, that is."

"I like to spin," Henry said with a little giggle. "There's a tire swing at the playground at school and I spin that so fast I get dizzy."

"Oh, you've got to be careful with that," Emma cautioned, meeting her son's eyes. "There's a very fine line between dizzy and sick. There was a tire swing at one of the group homes I stayed in and we used to spin each other until we got dizzy. It was all well and good until the day they spun me so fast I ended up puking up the half a box of Lemonheads I ate that afternoon."

Snow clucked her tongue in mock disapproval. "You poor thing."

"You wouldn't mind," Emma laughed, "but it wasn't even like I was a little kid. I was like, twelve and totally should have known better."

Henry laughed with her. "Are there other rides that spin like the Tilt-a-Whirl?"

"Oh, all kinds," Emma told him. The telltale tickling of a sneeze in her nose made her pause. She sneezed into a tissue, which she then balled up and dropped into the small trash bag her mother had brought her when she first set her up on the sofa. "But all spinning rides are not created equal. When I was in high school, we went on a field trip to an amusement park–"

"You went to an amusement park on a _field trip_?" Henry asked with more than a tinge of jealousy in his voice. "That's like, the coolest field trip ever!"

"It was for science class. We had to pick three rides to go on and then write a paper describing the scientific principles behind them. I wrote about the Tilt-a-Whirl, the bumper cars, and the … I don't even remember what it was called, but I _hated_ it. You stood against the wall in this circular room that spun around really fast, kind of like the spin cycle in a washing machine. The centrifugal force of the spinning was so strong that you were stuck to the wall to the point that the floor of the room dropped out and you stayed where you were."

Snow and David both raised their eyebrows as if they couldn't fathom why anyone would find that fun. Henry simply looked jealous that Emma had stuck to a wall, even for a little bit, and he hadn't. "That sounds _so_ cool!"

"It was fun to watch," Emma allowed, "but I did not like being inside the thing. The strength of the centrifugal force made me feel like I was lying down, and the room was spinning so fast that looking anywhere but right in front of me made me nauseous. It was just … too much."

"I don't think I'd like that, either," David agreed, giving a little smile in his daughter's direction. Emma smiled back, grateful for the backup.

"Can we back up a second?" Snow asked. When Emma nodded, Snow smiled at her. "What on earth are bumper cars?"

For a brief moment, Emma was shocked that she'd had to ask. It was weird, the things she took for granted. These were things she'd grown up experiencing without ever thinking that some people wouldn't know what they were. It kind of reminded her of the scene in _Pleasantville_ where Tobey Maguire had to explain the plots of all the books the kids in town had never had the opportunity to read. "They're these little cars you drive around an arena with a bunch of other people. Everyone crashes into each other."

Snow's eyebrows shot to the ceiling. "That sounds dangerous!"

Emma had to bite her lower lip to keep from laughing at her mother's alarm. She once again grabbed her phone to pull up a picture of a bumper car arena. "The cars aren't street legal or anything. They're designed specifically for the ride. Thick rubber bumpers surround them, there's padding everywhere inside, and I think top speed is like, a quarter mile an hour."

"That makes me feel better," Snow said as she took the phone from Emma's hand. Upon seeing the picture, she let out a breath of relief.

Emma grinned. She felt her grin turn into a touched smile when Henry nestled closer to her again. "I think I want to go on bumper cars, too, Mom," he said dreamily. "Do you think I'll get to someday?"

"I certainly hope so, kid," she said, giving him a little hug. When David handed her phone back to her, she set it down and looked to her parents. "Was there anything remotely resembling rides in the Enchanted Forest?"

"Nothing mechanical like this world apparently has," Snow said, "but I had a swing. My father had it put up for me on the grounds when I was about four or so."

"My father used to push me around in the wheelbarrow when I was young," David said, smiling at the memory. "I'd hold my arms out, close my eyes, and pretend I was flying."

"What, like in _Titanic_?" Emma smirked. When his brow furrowed, she groaned. Really? "Ugh, you think I would have learned by now that pop culture references are lost on you people. But even still, _Titanic_? How can you not have seen _Titanic_?"

"Even I've seen _Titanic_," Henry chimed in.

"Yeah, even Henry's seen _Titanic_."

"Hey, I was in a coma for twenty-eight years," David said, winking at his daughter. "Doesn't that excuse me from knowing some of this stuff?"

"It's certainly one of the more creative excuses I've ever heard," Emma deadpanned. After pretending to take a moment to think it over, she nodded at her father. "I guess I'll allow it."

The entire family chuckled at not only Emma's statement but also David's smile of mock gratitude. After a beat, Emma turned to Henry. "How did you see _Titanic_?"

"It was on TV," he said, giving a little shrug.

"And you just sat there and watched the whole thing? That movie's like, fourteen hours long!"

"There was nothing else on."

Snow and David both snickered but Emma just shook her head. This conversation had gotten so far off track she couldn't even see the tracks anymore. All right, time to get back to the original topic. "So, kid, are there any other rides you want to know about?"

Henry thought for a moment, then winked at his grandparents before grinning mischievously up at his mother. "What can you tell me about water slides?"


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Note:** I'm taking somewhat of a risk with this chapter. I've tried to keep everyone's stories as canon-compliant as possible, but this one just took off on its own. Every time I tried to reel it in, it kept coming out the same way. Since the story clearly wanted to be told, I decided to go with it. Also, you guys are absolutely amazing. Each and every one of your reviews has put a smile on my face. :)

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Emma's voice had grown slightly raspy as she confirmed Henry's suspicions that water slides were infinitely cooler than regular slides. Snow winced, hoping that all the talking Emma had done today wouldn't cause her to lose her voice. She actually wanted to stop her and give her voice a chance to rest, but she couldn't deny how much fun Emma seemed to be having with this particular set of stories.

Apparently, Emma adored water parks, though she could count the number of times she'd been to one on one hand. Since none of her family members had ever had the opportunity to go to a water park, Emma's stories fascinated them. "This one slide was so high, I lost count of how many stairs we climbed," Emma said, grinning at the memory. "When it was my turn, I was so scared that my foster brother had to shove me down the slide."

"He shoved you?" David asked, chuckling. Henry was giggling so hard he couldn't even talk.

"I was dangerously close to chickening out," Emma admitted, "but mostly, I was taking too long. He was behind me and wanted to go down the slide himself. So he gave me a little push. The ride attendant was supposed to yell at him for that but apparently he was laughing too hard to do so."

Snow laughed as she stood and headed to the kitchen to make cocoa for the family. It hadn't escaped her notice that Emma had stopped sipping her water. She had probably only stopped because swallowing hurt her throat, but the water was essential due to her fever. Another mug of cocoa would kill two birds with one stone, Snow figured. The hot liquid would soothe Emma's throat while also giving her the hydration her body needed.

Of course, she couldn't make cocoa for Emma alone, so cocoa for the whole family it was.

She listened to more of Emma's water slide stories as she prepared the drink, then poured cocoa into four mugs. She carried two to the sofa, handing Emma hers first. The relief on her daughter's face was plain as day as she accepted the mug. "Thank you," she murmured, sipping carefully and closing her eyes briefly as the warm chocolate eased the fire in her throat.

"You're welcome," Snow replied, sighing. If only Emma would allow her to go get the numbing spray. She handed the other mug to her grandson before heading back to the stove to pick up Charming's cocoa as well as her own.

All the talk of water slides had apparently made Henry think of swimming pools because he was now begging Emma to tell him anything and everything about her experiences with pools. In an effort to give his daughter a chance to rest her voice, David said, "We had a swimming hole on the farm. Well, near the farm. It took a few minutes to walk there from the house."

"A swimming hole?" Emma asked. Apparently she didn't share the same concerns about her voice as her parents. "What are you, from _Little House on the_ … you know what? Never mind."

Henry must have known where she had been going with that reference because he grinned up at her. Snow, of course, knew the _Little House_ books as any self-respecting fourth-grade teacher should but she could tell from the look on David's face that he had no idea what his daughter had meant. Still, he smiled at her. "It was too small to be a lake or a pond, so I don't know what else to call it. My mother used to take me there to teach me to swim when I was young."

Emma smiled at that. "I learned to swim when I was so young that I don't even remember it. Best I can figure is that my first family took me to toddler swim classes or something. I can't swim well but I could save myself if I had to."

"Wait, I don't get it," Henry broke in, frowning. "If you were in swim classes when you were so little you can't remember it, then how come you can't ..." He trailed off, and from the panicked look on his face, Snow guessed that he just answered his own question. The swim classes hadn't continued because Emma's first family gave her back, and none of the other families enrolled her in further classes. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay," Emma told him, her voice soft. She took a deep breath and set her shoulders, as if trying to shore up some emotional courage. "We're telling stories from our pasts. These things were bound to come up."

Snow and David exchanged a loaded glance. They both had so many questions but neither wanted to be the one to ask. Snow wouldn't feel right asking, at least. She didn't want to make her daughter uncomfortable, nor did she want to say anything that would put an end to the stories. If anyone had asked Mary Margaret Blanchard if she ever thought Emma Swan would be comfortable sitting around all day and telling stories from her past, she would have answered vehemently in the negative.

She could tell, of course, that Emma wasn't telling them everything. Whether for her family's sake or her own, she was handpicking the stories. Considering the amount of tooth-pulling she would have had to do just a few weeks ago to get this much out of Emma, though, she would take whatever Emma wanted to offer.

It seemed that Henry did not share his grandparents' hesitance. He looked up at his mother, watching her carefully as she sipped her cocoa. "Mom, can I ask you something? You don't have to answer if you don't want to."

"Uh oh," Emma joked, though Snow caught the panic that flickered across her face. "That doesn't sound good, but yeah, ask away."

"Did you have a favorite family?"

Once again, a flurry of emotions crossed Emma's face in a fraction of a second. Then she caught herself, putting a mask up so quickly that Snow had a flash of the Emma who had shown up on her doorstep to return the bail money when she first arrived in Storybrooke. "Henry," Snow chided.

The boy cringed.

"No, it's okay," Emma said. She made brief eye contact with her mother before looking down at her son with a little smile. "I did have a favorite family."

At her words, David reached over and grasped Snow's hand. Snow threaded their fingers together and squeezed. He squeezed back, an indication that he was giving her just as much support as she was giving him.

Emma took another deep breath. "When I was twelve, I was placed with the Johnsons," she started, then cleared her throat to keep her voice from sounding shaky. "They had been told they couldn't have children of their own, so they looked into fostering. The first child placed with them was a little girl named Amanda. They decided to adopt her, and while the adoption papers were going through, Mrs. Johnson found out she was pregnant. Twin boys named Andrew and Tommy. As the kids got older, Amanda started joking about wanting a sister to help even the score, which made the parents think about fostering again. This time, though, they would look for an older girl so all the kids would be around the same age."

When Emma paused, Henry once again grabbed her arm and wrapped it around his shoulders as he nestled into her side. A little smile curled on Snow's lips when she saw Emma tighten her arm around him. "My social worker thought we'd be a good fit, and we were. I … wasn't the easiest kid to get to know. By that point, I'd been through the song and dance so many times that I didn't even bother trying to get attached anymore. The Johnsons were extraordinarily patient with me … patient and kind." She met Snow's eyes. "You kind of reminded me of Mrs. Johnson. Mary Margaret you, I mean."

Again, Emma stopped, a faraway look in her eyes. The mother in Snow wanted to tell Emma that she didn't have to go any further, wanted to spare her baby from reliving this part of her childhood. Although Snow didn't know exactly how the story ended, she knew Emma didn't end up staying with the Johnsons.

It was the Mary Margaret in her that made her hold her tongue. The Mary Margaret in her understood that the decision whether or not to continue needed to be Emma's.

Emma was silent for a beat longer before drawing in a heavy breath. "And then Mr. Johnson's job transferred him to their Ohio office. At first, we were all excited but when they mentioned it to my social worker, she said I couldn't go with them. Not immediately. I was a ward of the state of Maine and although there was a law that allows the possible transfer of foster children from one state to another, it was a lengthy process full of paperwork and red tape. The options were to wait indefinitely to see if Ohio would accept me from Maine, start adoption proceedings, or send me back."

"And they sent you back?" Henry murmured sadly.

"No, they wanted to adopt. I sent myself back."

Snow swore her heart skipped a beat. This was not at all the ending she had anticipated. She felt David tense up as well. "What?" she breathed. "Why?"

Emma looked over at her parents, her eyes shining with unshed tears. "I heard them talking about it one night. I thought they were arguing but looking back on it, I think they were just trying to figure it all out. The plan was for Mr. Johnson and the kids to go to Ohio while Mrs. Johnson stayed with me in Maine until the adoption was finalized. The only thing was adoptions aren't quick, either. They can take weeks, even months, and the Johnsons didn't know how they were going to pay for two residences for however long it was going to take. Plus, none of them really wanted to be separated for that long. I could see this family crumbling before my eyes, and it was all because of me. So the next morning, I told them I changed my mind."

She swallowed hard. "I think they knew why I changed my mind because they tried to tell me not to worry about anything but I was adamant. When my social worker asked me why I had them bring me back, I admitted that I couldn't split up their family."

David worked his jaw, trying to contain his emotion for his daughter's sake. For her part, Snow was blinking rapidly so her tears wouldn't fall. Her poor baby girl had sacrificed her chance at having a family of her own out of love for that family.

"It all worked out for the best, though," Emma said, sniffling. Then she blew her nose to cover her sniffle as simply being due to her cold. She glanced down at Henry before meeting Snow's eyes to convey the hidden meaning behind her next statement. "If they had adopted me, maybe I wouldn't have ended up here."

Snow did catch the hidden meaning, and it sent fresh tears to her eyes. If the Johnsons had adopted Emma, she more than likely wouldn't have had Henry.

Something told Snow that Henry caught it, too, because he tightened his arms around his mother's waist. "I'm happy you ended up here, Mom."

"I am, too, kid," she murmured, giving his shoulders a tight squeeze.

David let out a heavy breath and swiped his free hand across his face, an effort to collect himself. Then he asked, "Even with all the nuttiness Storybrooke has to offer?"

And just like that, the mood in the room lightened. Snow and Emma both chuckled in relief and amusement while Henry grinned at his grandfather. David, though, only had eyes for his little girl. "Even with all the nuttiness," Emma admitted, smiling gently. "Who wants a boring life, anyway?"


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's Note:** *whew* Thank you all for making me feel so much better about my little risk in the last chapter! Hope you enjoy this next part and, no, the last bit of this was not at all inspired by the rerelease of a certain favorite movie of mine. ;)

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David's little crack about Storybrooke being nutty may have released the emotional tension in the room, but Emma was now experiencing a serious case of regret. The room felt stuffy, the couch too small, the air too thin. She needed to get up and go _do_ something … _now_.

She pushed the blanket off her legs and stood, groaning aloud when Snow stood up, too. "Stop," she grumbled, grasping both her and Henry's empty cocoa mugs in her hand. "I can walk to the sink by myself. It's ten feet away, for Christ's sake."

As soon as she stepped away from the couch, she felt guilty for her outburst. But honestly, her mother was behaving as if she were on her deathbed. She had a cold, for Christ's sake. She wasn't going to deny that the dizziness from earlier was frightening. It was scary to experience, at any rate, and she couldn't imagine it was any less scary to watch. That said, it had been hours since she'd had a dizzy spell, and the only thing that cured a cold was time. No amount of sitting on the sofa was going to hurry that process along.

Emma set the mugs in the sink and stood at the counter for a long moment, her eyes closed. Why had she told the story about the Johnsons? She hadn't been prepared for it, and her family certainly hadn't been prepared for it. What she had told them at the end was true; she did believe everything had worked out for the best. That belief, however, didn't make the experience any less painful.

A hand slid onto her shoulder, startling her. She whirled on her heels, expecting Snow, but it was David who had approached her. He set his and Snow's mugs into the sink without taking his concerned eyes off his daughter. "Are you all right?"

She looked past him to the rest of her family. For their part, Snow and Henry appeared to be deep in conversation. At least it didn't look like they were trying to listen in on what was going on at the sink. "I'm fine," Emma muttered in her father's direction.

"No, you're not."

The headache that had been bubbling under the surface all day long finally bloomed as anger surged through Emma's veins. "It's just a damn cold!"

"I'm not talking about your cold," he said gently. "That story was hard on you."

"It was years ago."

"Maybe, but the pain is still fresh."

Tears were beginning to well in Emma's eyes again, tears she did not want to cry. She shut her eyes and tried to regain her usually careful control. This damn cold was messing with goddamned _everything_. It took holding a couple of deep breaths before she felt the tears finally recede. "I'm fine," she repeated, opening her eyes and focusing her attention on the mugs in the sink.

The look on David's face made it clear that he didn't believe her in the slightest but thankfully, he didn't push it. He just stood with her as she turned on the faucet and let the water grow hot while squeezing a bit of dish soap onto the sponge.

David crossed behind her to her other side and pulled a towel out of the drawer so he could dry. She scrubbed the first mug in silence. It wasn't until she handed it over after rinsing it off that she blurted out, "I found them a couple years back. I couldn't find you but I could find them. They're still in Ohio, still married. The kids are all grown up now, obviously. Amanda even has a daughter of her own."

Emma still hadn't looked over at her father but she could feel his eyes on her. "Did you ever approach them?"

She shook her head. "It was enough to know that they're still happy. That things worked out for them–"

"That you made the right decision?"

She shrugged and once again focused the mugs. She raised her eyes to her mother and son, still talking over in the living area. "I wouldn't give this up for the world … you guys are my family. But sometimes I wonder if they think of me at all. If they wonder where I am now, if they'd be ..." She trailed off, suddenly realizing what she was saying and to whom she was saying it. Her father didn't need to hear this.

Regardless of whether he needed to hear it or not, he still insisted on being his typical supportive self. "If they'd be what, proud of you?"

And there were those tears again, goddamn it. She once again shut her eyes to regain control.

David turned off the water while taking the sponge from her hand. "Emma, look at me." She opened her eyes and almost hesitantly met her father's gaze. "I can't speak for the Johnsons, but I can tell you that your mother and I are more proud of you than you can ever know. For what you've done and what you continue to do. Not just for the fairy-tale hero stuff – although slaying a dragon makes any parent proud – but also for what you've done with Henry and with us … and for yourself. You grew up into a beautiful, loyal, amazing woman, my sweet girl, and I couldn't be a prouder father."

Well, that was just it. Emma's tears finally spilled over. "Okay, that was all kinds of unfair," she said through a self-deprecating chuckle. She swiped a hand over her face, trying to dry her eyes.

David chuckled as well, reaching out to dry her cheeks with the side of his thumb. The action reminded Emma of Snow doing the same thing in the castle, which brought a little smile to her face. These people really were her parents, weren't they? "What's so funny?" he asked her, his voice gentle.

"Nothing," she softly replied. He handed her the sponge back with a smile, and she continued to wash the other two mugs.

When Emma washed the final mug, David took it from her hand and told her she should go sit down on the sofa. As much as she hated to admit it, her body was beginning to tire from standing so long after sitting all day. Goddamned cold. Sighing, she headed back to the living area.

As she approached the couch, she caught the tail end of the story Henry had been telling his grandmother. "Each night before bed, she'd read the next chapter to me. It took us a month but we eventually got through the whole thing."

"What book?" Emma asked. She reclaimed her spot on the sofa and drew the blanket back over her legs.

"_Sideways Stories from Wayside School._"

"I loved that book!" After she got herself situated, she jokingly addressed her mother. "See, warden? I could get up, stand at the sink, and walk back over here without collapsing."

"I'll mark that down in your file," Snow replied with a smirk. "Maybe I'll be able to take some time off your sentence for good behavior."

Henry giggled when Emma playfully beamed at her mother. David rejoined the family at that point, smiling at the amusement on everyone's faces. "What did I miss?"

"Henry and Emma both love _Sideways Stories from Wayside School_," Snow summarized. When he raised his eyebrows at her in question, she simply shrugged.

"Oh, _come_ on!" Emma exclaimed. "I can't believe you two don't know this book. Well, I can believe it, I suppose, because why would two adults from the Enchanted Forest have read it? But still!" A sudden thought struck her, and she shifted her gaze to her mother. "You were a fourth-grade teacher for twenty-eight years. You never read it to your class?"

"Not that I can recall," Snow replied. "It didn't sound familiar when Henry was describing it."

Emma just sighed and shook her head. "You two are so deprived. I mean, I haven't even seen a copy of it since I was Henry's age, so I have no idea how funny it would be to an adult. But when you're a kid, it's friggin' hysterical. My fifth-grade teacher read it to us a couple of chapters at a time, and I remember the entire class cracking up."

Snow smiled at her daughter. "What other books did you like to read?"

"Mostly ghost stories," Emma shrugged. "There was one I read that was so scary I refused to read it at night. I used to like scary movies, too. One of my foster brothers and I would sneak into scary movies whenever we got the chance."

David and Snow raised their eyebrows at each other, making Emma wince. The last thing her parents probably wanted to hear was that their daughter learned how to sneak into movies before she was even into her double-digit years. Henry, on the other hand, frowned at her. "How do you sneak into a movie?"

Emma sighed, glancing down at her son. What kind of mother taught her kid how to sneak into movies? Was there even a movie theater in Storybrooke? "Okay, _never_ do this, but Jason would look in the newspaper and find when a G-rated movie and the one we really wanted to see were playing around the same time. We'd walk to the theater, buy tickets for the kids' movie, and then go into the auditorium where the scary one was playing. The first movie he got us into was _Jurassic Park_, and by the way? If any of you have not seen _Jurassic Park_, let me know and I will remedy that tonight."

"Let me guess," Snow deadpanned, "you like _Jurassic Park_."

"Oh, no," Emma said, shaking her head with mock seriousness, "I don't _like Jurassic Park_–"

"She _loves_ _Jurassic Park_," Henry interrupted, giggling.

Emma grinned at him as she nodded her affirmation. "It's one of the five DVDs I actually own. So, we've all seen it, yes?"

Snow and Henry both nodded but David raised his hand with a sheepish cringe. "I haven't."

"Really?" Emma groaned. Sweet mother of God, how did someone go through life and never see _Jurassic Park_?

"What part of my being in a coma for twenty-eight years do you find so hard to grasp?"

Emma grunted as she started to get to her feet. "Where do you think you're going?" Snow asked.

"Upstairs to get the DVD," she answered, her tone indicating that it should have been obvious.

"Let Henry get it."

"I'm not an invalid," Emma said for what felt like the hundredth time.

"You're not going up the stairs," Snow told her in a tone that brooked no dissent. "Need I remind you that you almost passed out coming down those stairs this morning?"

Emma started to insist that she had not almost passed out, also for the hundredth time, but she didn't have the energy to argue. She plopped back down, gesturing for her son to go upstairs and retrieve the DVD for her. "Bottom dresser drawer?" Henry asked her with a sympathetic wince.

"Yep," she said through a resigned sigh.

He took off in a run as Emma slouched against the back of the sofa, defeated. She was oblivious to the amused glance her parents exchanged at her sulky behavior.

Less than a minute later, Henry came bounding down the stairs, DVD case in hand. "I'm kind of excited to see this again," he said as he handed the movie over to his mother.

Emma gave the case to her father so he could read the blurb on the back before turning to her son. "Wait a sec, Regina actually let you watch this?"

Not that Emma had room to talk, considering she was going to let Henry watch it. Plus, she had seen it when she was younger than Henry. She just didn't picture Regina as the type to let Henry watch a movie about dinosaurs on an island eating people.

Henry's face blanched as he looked up at Emma with a chagrined expression. "Well, um, it was on TV and she was running out the door for a city council meeting. She didn't know what it was and I knew she didn't have time to really investigate it, so I sort of told her it was an educational thing I needed to watch for school."

Emma couldn't help it: she grinned. "That's my boy." Then she covered, wiping the amusement from her face and putting on a stern look instead. "But if you ever do anything like that to me, you'll be in major trouble."

Henry giggled. "Yes, Mom."


	10. Chapter 10

It was coming up on dinnertime, which meant Emma would have to try to force even more food down her aching throat. She had tried to bow out of dinner entirely but when Snow started to lecture her about the importance of nourishment for a sick body, Emma had thrown her hands up in surrender. Clearly, skipping dinner was not going to be allowed.

It took a bit of discussion and Snow promising to overcook the pasta so it would be soft and easy to swallow for Emma to finally agree to homemade macaroni and cheese. With any luck, the hot and creamy cheese sauce would soothe her throat enough to make swallowing bearable.

Emma's time at the sink washing the cocoa mugs had only made her even more impatient with being forced to stay on the couch. She started to stand, offering to help Snow cook dinner, but a round of sneezes interrupted her. All right, so working with food was clearly out of the question. Snow smiled at her, equal parts gratitude for the offer and sympathy for her cold, as Emma slumped back against the sofa.

"Do you need more medicine, Mom?" Henry asked as he handed her the blanket she'd thrown off her legs.

A little smile curled on Emma's lips at his eagerness to help. "No thanks, kid."

"You can get her the thermometer if you want, Henry," Snow called from the sink, where she was filling a large pot with water for the pasta. Emma just groaned.

David watched, amusement sparkling in his eyes, as Henry darted his gaze between his mother and his grandmother. Though he wanted to help his mother, he didn't want to annoy her, so he wasn't sure which his family members he should obey.

Emma sighed, supposing she could put the poor kid out of his misery. "It's all right. Go get the da–I mean the_ stupid_ thermometer."

Snow bit her lip to keep from laughing out loud at Emma's attempt at curbing her colorful language for her son's benefit.

Henry gave his mom a comforting smile as he pushed himself to his feet. He retrieved the thermometer from the counter where Snow had last left it. When he handed it to Emma, she tried her hardest not to look annoyed at the overprotection from her entire family.

She turned the device on and stuck the tip under the tongue, leaving Henry free to tell a story. He started talking about the times Regina used to let him set up a little tent in the back yard so he could pretend he was camping. Not exactly Emma's idea of fun but because Henry had clearly enjoyed it, she smiled anyway.

When the thermometer beeped, Emma pulled it from her mouth. The numbers on the display made her groan inwardly. "Um, kid, would you mind getting me some more medicine after all?"

At those words, Snow's head shot up from her task. David slipped the thermometer from Emma's hand as Henry stood from the sofa and headed for the bathroom. Snow wiped her own hands on a dishrag, which she then slung over her shoulder, and hurried over to the couch. "Your fever's rising, isn't it?" she asked, pressing her hand against Emma's forehead.

Emma rolled her eyes, once again feeling like a five-year-old. "It's up like, half a degree."

"More like a whole degree," David said, pressing the button to turn off the thermometer. "Just a touch over a hundred and one now."

Snow flicked her gaze over to her husband and then stared down at her daughter in concern. "That's troubling."

"Oh, for crying out loud," Emma grumbled, pushing her mother's hand away from her face. "For the millionth time today, I have a cold. I've had a cold before and I'm sure I'll have one again. A slight fever with a cold is normal, so can we please stop acting like I need to be quarantined?"

"That medicine you've been taking all day is also a fever reducer, Emma," Snow told her, her voice unimaginably patient. "Your fever shouldn't be rising at all."

Before Emma could come up with a counterargument, Henry returned from the bathroom with the requested dose of cold medicine. "Gramma left the daytime stuff out, so I know they're the right pills," he said as he dropped them into her waiting palm.

Emma smiled at him as she popped the pills into her mouth. The little involuntary flinch as she washed them down with a gulp of water was, disturbingly, becoming second-nature. Snow watched her a moment longer, eyes swimming with concern. "I want you to check your temperature every half-hour," she instructed before heading back to the counter to continue with dinner.

_Seriously?_ Emma thought as she narrowed her eyes at her mother's retreating form. She turned a pleading gaze on her father. If anyone could rescue her from her mother's overprotection, it was David.

Unfortunately, he just gave her a slight shake of his head and a tiny, apologetic shrug. "Sorry, Emma, she's right. Your fever shouldn't be rising with all the medicine you've been taking."

She huffed, slouching back against the sofa in defeat. If this was how her parents reacted to a simple cold, she didn't even want to imagine what would happen if, God forbid, she ended up sick with something really serious.

"Mom!" Henry called, startling Emma back to reality. "Do you think we can do that when the weather warms up?"

"Do what?" she asked. When Henry frowned at her, she gathered she must have missed quite a bit of conversation. Crap.

Henry didn't seem to be as annoyed as she would have been if she'd had to repeat herself. Maybe he'd inherited his patience from his grandmother. "Set up a tent outside and go back yard camping."

The very thought of it made Emma wrinkle her nose. First of all, she had no idea if they were even allowed to set up a tent outside. After all, they didn't own the grounds outside their little apartment. Then again, she didn't think any of the neighbors would complain.

Not that it mattered what the rules were for the occasional pretend back yard campout. Too much was going on in Storybrooke for her to let Henry sleep outside three stories below his family by himself, and she'd had her fill of sleeping outside in the Enchanted Forest. "We'll see," was all she said to Henry, because the headache that had bloomed earlier was starting to throb and she couldn't concentrate.

"Oh, Mom, please? It'd be so much fun!"

"If there's one thing I learned from my time in the Enchanted Forest, it's that sleeping outside is not fun."

Henry's face fell for a brief moment, making Emma's stomach lurch. God, she hated disappointing that kid. Luckily, he covered, putting on a little smile. "Well, yeah, when you _have_ to do it, it's annoying. But when you do it because you want to, it's super-fun."

"I'll take your word for it, kid," Emma said, shutting her eyes and massaging her right temple. When she opened her eyes and glanced over at her son, she noticed he had the sad puppy dog pout on his lips.

Well, that was just unfair. There should be some way to ban him from ever giving her that look. "Maybe we can look into it when the nights get a bit warmer."

"Thanks!" Henry exclaimed, beaming.

"Don't mention it," Emma smiled back. What was the occasional sleepless night outside if she got to see that amount of glee on her kid's face?

The family was silent for a beat, the only sounds in the apartment being the bubbling of the pasta water and the soft metal-against-metal grating of Snow's whisk hitting the side the pot as she stirred the melting cheese into the sauce.

David was the one who broke the silence. "You never got used to it?" he asked his daughter. "Sleeping outside?"

Emma shook her head. "I never realized just how much I took mattresses and pillows for granted until the first night in the Forest."

"You were actually really funny," Snow spoke up from the counter. An amused smile flickered across her lips at the memory. "All the tossing and turning and complaining about the sticks and rocks digging into your back. I seem to recall Mulan muttering something about how she thought Aurora was supposed to be the princess."

David snickered. Henry clamped his hand over his mouth to muffle his own giggle, most likely because he was within kicking distance of his mother.

Emma just sighed. "I wasn't being a princess. It's just that the ground is cold and hard and not exactly conducive to sleep."

"That's why you use a sleeping bag when you go camping," Henry told her. "It keeps you warm and it protects you from the rocks and other stuff digging into your back."

"Right, but it wasn't like we could go to the nearest camping supply store and pick up some sleeping bags, kid," Emma reminded him. Then she looked back over at her mother, her previous words finally sinking in. "Mulan really called me a princess?"

Snow just smiled at her, providing confirmation without words.

"I'm not a princess," Emma huffed. "I was just ..." She trailed off as sudden connections began firing off in her aching head. Snow White and Prince Charming were her parents. Snow White and Prince Charming were royalty. She had seen with her own eyes where she would have grown up if not for the curse. She would have lived in a castle … with her parents, who were royalty. That meant … "Wait, _am_ I a princess?"

No one even had to answer her. The amused glance her parents exchanged and the little giggle Henry tried to hide provided all the confirmation she needed. She _was_ a princess … a real, fairy-tale princess. All of a sudden, her headache got a lot worse. "Oh God," she groaned, placing her head in her hands.

She could hear her entire family chuckling at her reaction. "I take it this means we're not going to get you into a big poofy dress and a tiara, hmm?" David teased.

Emma shot her head up and glared at her father. "Don't even joke about things like that!" Holy freaking crap, she could not be a princess. She couldn't deal with the thought of balls and dresses and thrones and the … propriety.

Although, there was one stereotypically princess thing that would be insanely nice. "I wouldn't mind a big, comfy four-poster bed, though," she said, causing David and Henry to exchange a grin. "The canopy is optional."

Snow laughed. "Keep dreaming, sweetpea. You think a bed that size would fit in the loft?"

"Damn," Emma teasingly muttered. "It was worth a shot."


	11. Chapter 11

**Author's Note:** I know, I know, I've been an updating _fiend_ lately. Tis what happens when I have a week off work. ;) Thank you again for all your lovely reviews and for favoriting and following. I'm running out of ways to tell y'all how awesome you are. :)

* * *

At first, when Snow had told the family that dinner was almost ready, Emma had been thrilled. A Snow-sanctioned opportunity to get up off the couch? Emma was _so_ there. Who cared if all she was doing was relocating to the kitchen table? She was _relocating_. However, she'd been at the table a few minutes now, and it killed her to admit that she maybe – possibly, just a tiny little bit – missed the sofa.

Without having something to lean her head against, it had started to pound. The throbbing got worse if she dropped her head forward, leading her to conclude that her sinuses had finally decided to join Team Cold and make her life miserable, too. Oh, and had she mentioned that the chair was nowhere near as soft on her tired muscles as the couch cushions?

She fidgeted on the chair, trying to get comfortable, and eventually gave up with a heavy sigh. She rested her elbow on the table and propped her head up on her hand. Henry had poured her some more water while Snow plated up some mac and cheese for her, but Emma found she didn't have the energy to complain that they weren't letting her do things for herself.

Which was, in all honesty, just the living end. The lack of energy to protest, of course, not the fact that her family was doing things for her. She shut her eyes and tried not to think about how her mother and son were treating her as if she were a toddler.

The clunk of a plate hitting the table forced her to open her eyes. She blinked up at her mother, who had just set a steaming plate of mac and cheese in front of Emma and was attempting to smile through the sheer concern on her features. "Oh no," she said softly as she once again felt Emma's forehead for her fever, "you're not at all sick."

"Shush," Emma muttered, though her voice lacked the edge needed to make the word sound angry. Snow smiled at her, removed her hand, and went back to getting dinner on the table.

David chuckled, giving one of Emma's limp curls a gentle tug as he walked past her chair on the way to his. Although the teasing action should have annoyed Emma, she found herself sort of comforted by it instead.

Goddamn it, being sick made her _soft_. In an effort to get her mind focused on _anything_ else, she picked up her fork and stabbed it into the pasta.

Steam rose from the macaroni, swirling white wisps making their way to the ceiling only to get lost in the overhead light. She waited until most of the steam stopped rising before putting the fork in her mouth. Just like earlier, she really wished her taste buds were working properly, because what little she could taste was delicious. "How did you learn how to cook?" she asked as Snow served herself from the pasta bowl in the center of the table. "I can't imagine the curse set you up knowing how to prepare meals for a family."

"I did have a few cookbooks at my disposal," Snow replied with a gentle smile at her daughter. "I wonder if that was some cruel little twist to the curse, giving me a bunch of different recipes to learn how to prepare with no one but myself to feed. Anyway, I'm sure I learned some of it just from following those recipes for twenty-eight years, but I also used to spend some time in the kitchen of the castle."

Henry leaned back in his chair with a wide grin. "All right! More stories from Gramma's days as a little princess."

Snow turned her smile on her grandson as she set her fork down, sacrificing her first few bites of dinner for story time. "I wasn't supposed to be spending my time in the kitchen–"

"Why not?" Henry interrupted, his mouth full of mac and cheese.

"Really?" Emma groaned. "You couldn't swallow first?"

He gave a sheepish wince as he swallowed what was in his mouth. "Sorry."

"It's okay," Emma sighed, giving him a wan smile. She figured he was just excited; his table manners were, for the most part, better than hers.

"I wasn't supposed to hang out in the kitchen because there were more productive things for a young princess to do," Snow explained, for both her grandson's and daughter's benefits.

Emma found that unimaginably sad. One of the things she used to enjoy doing as a kid – in houses where the foster mother didn't mind, of course – was watch people cook. One of her earliest memories was of sitting on a kitchen counter, swinging her legs and happily licking brownie batter off a wooden spoon.

Even back when Snow was just Mary Margaret, Emma would stand at the counter and watch her cook dinner for the both of them. Everything about the process fascinated her. The way Mary Margaret's hands moved as she expertly chopped vegetables, far quicker and with more precision than Emma had ever been able to manage. The way she knew solely by the aroma in the air that the meat in the pan was ready to turn. The way she added herbs and spices to a simmering sauce without measuring, relying on her taste buds alone to tell her whether or not the flavors were blending properly.

"Cooking was not a skill I would have ever needed so I should have been learning how to do things more relevant to my station," Snow continued. "After my mother passed, I started spending a couple hours after my lessons each day down in the kitchen, and … well ..."

"You couldn't imagine any of the kitchen staff telling the little girl who'd just lost her mother to get out?" Emma asked softly.

Snow smiled back at her just as gently. "Yes, though the kitchen staff wouldn't have been the ones to kick me out."

Henry frowned. "Who would have been? Miss Samantha?"

"Who's Miss Samantha?" Emma asked. This was clearly a story she had missed, more than likely when she was napping.

"She was my governess."

Emma raised her eyebrows. Had she suddenly been dropped into a Victorian novel? Not that suddenly being dropped into a Victorian novel would have been the weirdest thing to happen to her in recent weeks. "A governess? Like a nanny?"

"Private tutor," David corrected, exchanging a smile with Snow. Henry giggled, too, which told Emma that this was an inside joke she had also missed. Damn it, she really freaking hated naps.

"A governess is a teacher," Snow laughed. "She's tasked with educating the children, not taking care of them."

"Oh." Emma frowned down at her dinner, moving the macaroni around the plate with her fork. "Would I have had a governess?"

"Yes," David told her somewhat wistfully.

She nodded and decided at that moment to stop asking questions. They were starting to get into how insanely different her life would have been if the curse hadn't happened, and it made her brain hurt.

"It would have been up to my nursemaid to keep me out of the kitchen," Snow continued softly, her eyes focused on her daughter. "She acted more like a traditional nanny. But like I said, the kitchen staff was welcoming, so it wasn't a problem."

Emma smiled, shut her eyes, and tried to imagine her mother as a little princess. Perhaps it was because she'd grown up with various iterations of Snow White, but she found the task quite easy.

Imagining herself living happily in the nursery of a castle she'd only seen in ruins was far harder. She tried to picture herself as a little girl, her blonde curls bouncing as she ran around in a dress of satin and tulle and instead saw a girl with her curls tangled and messy, smudges of dirt on her cheeks, and grass stains covering the knees of her pants.

"Emma?"

She once again blinked her eyes open, her brow wrinkling. Which of her family members had called her? It must have been her father, because after a beat of silence, he smiled and said, "Just wanted to make sure you were still with us."

"I was awake," she mumbled. "I was just … thinking."

When he raised his eyebrows at her, she could tell he wanted to ask what was on her mind but didn't know how she would take it. With a little smile at him, she answered the question he didn't dare ask. "It was nothing, really ... just that I didn't exactly behave like a princess as a kid."

"And you can't imagine yourself as a proper young girl in a princess dress?"

She shook her head. "Not in the slightest. I was the little girl who climbed trees and hiked through the woods and came home at the end of the day with her sneakers caked in mud." Her parents exchanged a glance filled with love and longing, and suddenly, all this … emotion became far too much for Emma's poor cold-addled brain to handle. "I'm sure it would have been different if I'd grown up in the castle, though."

"No, Emma," Snow said, her eyes beginning to shine with tears. "You would have been allowed to be you, even if it meant hiring an entire team of people to wash and mend your clothing."

Okay, _that_ was far too much for Emma's poor cold-addled brain to handle. She squirmed in the chair, trying to think of a joke that would lighten the mood and get the conversation back on comfortable ground. To her horror, she had nothing.

And then her father swooped in to save the day. "So you were … spirited as a kid, huh?"

"That's a very polite way of putting it," Emma chuckled in relief. Henry grinned, opened his mouth to say something, and then closed it again, seemingly changing his mind. "What is it, kid?"

"I was just going to say something about the etiquette lessons teaching you how to be proper," he shrugged.

"Whoa, etiquette lessons?" Emma darted her gaze across the table to her parents. "I would have had to take _etiquette_ lessons?"

David didn't even bother to hide his amusement. Snow, for her part, nodded almost apologetically as she said, "That was part of the curriculum, yes."

Emma groaned, slumping against the back of the chair. Slouching probably wouldn't have been allowed if she were a princess, would it? Henry giggled at her reaction, the hand over his mouth not muffling his laughter quickly enough.

A moment later, she dug into her macaroni. Sore throat or not, she was getting hungry. "So what did you learn how to cook in the castle kitchen?"

It was a rather blatant attempt at taking the focus off herself but thankfully everyone went along with it. "I learned methods more than actual recipes," Snow replied. "How to peel and cook vegetables, how to make soups and stews, things like that. Which is great because if they had taught me recipes, I would have had to do a lot of dividing amounts of ingredients to keep everything in proportion. Cooking for a family of four isn't quite the same thing as cooking for a castle full of people."

At that, Emma smiled. She still couldn't picture what her life would have been like if she'd grown up in the castle, but she had no problem picturing her mother as a young princess surrounded by people who clearly loved her.

"Well, however you learned to make macaroni and cheese, it's awesome, Gramma," Henry said, earning a touched smile from his grandmother.

"I'm pretty sure she learned that here, kid," Emma snickered. "I don't think macaroni and cheese is an Enchanted Forest invention. Believe me, I would have killed for a nice mac and cheese dinner over there."

He grinned at her. "What kinds of things did you eat?"

"Don't ask." This time, she looked over at her parents in time to catch the amused look the two of them exchanged. "I much prefer this world's food, thank you very much."

"Now, now, don't let the food you had to scrounge for color your opinion of Enchanted Forest cuisine," David teased, eyes twinkling as he winked at Henry. "You should have seen the feasts. More food than you could ever possibly eat, all prepared the very best way the kitchen knew. It would take them days to prepare everything. The desserts alone ..."

"Like Thanksgiving?" Henry asked excitedly.

"Like ten years' worth of Thanksgivings all at once."

Emma snorted. "Is this like telling us you had to walk to school barefoot in three feet of snow uphill both ways?"

Snow grinned at her. "He may be exaggerating a little but feasts were something to see. Long – ridiculously long – but if you like to eat ..." She let the sentence trail off, knowing full well how much her daughter loved to eat.

"Okay," Emma relented, "maybe a feast would have made me change my mind. That said, I don't know if I could live in a world without Froot Loops or where I couldn't stick homemade chocolate chip cookies into the microwave for a few seconds to make the chocolate melt."

The whole family laughed. "Fair enough," David chuckled.


	12. Chapter 12

Any other day, Emma would have happily eaten at least two helpings of her mother's surprisingly addictive macaroni and cheese. It was the cheese sauce, she'd decided. Apparently Snow White would not hear of serving elbow macaroni with basic cheddar cheese sauce. Though Emma couldn't taste much, she knew the sauce contained multiple cheeses because the slight but unmistakable tang of blue cheese ran through every bite.

With her throat as sore as it was, though, it took all of her willpower to finish just three-quarters of the pasta Snow had scooped onto her plate. _This goddamned cold is ruining everything_, Emma thought as she picked at the remaining macaroni with her fork.

Conversation flowed around her. David was in the middle of telling the family about the time he scared his parents half to death as a young boy. "I didn't come in for lunch, and as a growing boy, I _always_ came in for lunch."

"Sounds like someone else I know," Emma smirked with a sideways glance at her son.

David grinned when Henry's cheeks flushed. "My mother called for me but I still didn't come. When they spotted the sheep grazing in the fields, they panicked. Something had happened to me, they figured. I was hurt or sick or something. Of course, I was perfectly fine," he continued to the amusement of his entire family. "I had just fallen asleep in the fields."

"Wait a second," Henry interrupted, a glimmer in his eyes that Emma hadn't seen since the early days of Operation Cobra. "Does that make you Little Boy Blue, too?"

"I didn't have a horn," David replied, winking at his grandson.

"Aw, man," Henry sighed as he popped another bite of mac and cheese into his mouth.

Emma finally set her fork down, a silent admission of defeat. As she sat back in the chair, she noticed her mother squinting across the table at her plate as if trying to calculate how much pasta was missing. She must have decided that Emma had eaten enough because she gave a slight nod before gently saying, "You look like you need to get back to the couch."

Though the couch did indeed sound heavenly, Emma was nothing if not stubborn. She was not about to leave the table before the rest of her family and go lie on the couch like an invalid. She shook her head in refusal and then had to squeeze her eyes shut when the room started to spin. Oh, head congestion sucked so damn hard.

"Emma, please. Go back and rest on the couch."

It wasn't her mother pleading with her that time; it was her father. She opened her eyes to find that the room had blissfully stopped spinning and that her entire family was trying – and failing – not to look concerned. She was used to her parents being worried but it was the concern swimming in her son's eyes that made her heart skip a beat. "Fine," she sighed. She supposed she could go back to the couch, if only so that Henry wouldn't worry about her.

She stood up and grabbed her plate to take to the sink. As she was reaching for her empty water glass, she paused to hold in a sneeze.

Which made her ears _kill_.

"Oh, _shit_," was all she managed to mutter before the vertigo hit.

The plate slipped from Emma's hand as she flailed for something to grip. She caught a whiff of aftershave as strong hands caught her under her arms. Her father, she realized when those strong hands guided her back to her chair. "Is this what happened this morning?" she heard David ask.

Emma tried to answer but groaned instead. "Yes," Snow replied. Had David been asking Snow and not her? Emma had no idea. Then she heard her mother's voice again. "Henry, sweetie, it's okay. She'll be all right in a minute."

"Still in the room, you know," Emma finally managed to joke, mostly for Henry's benefit. She heard relieved chuckling, though she couldn't be sure whose laugh it was. It took another moment or two for the vertigo to recede enough for her to open her eyes. She searched immediately for her son.

His little face was so pale, probably paler than hers. As soon as their gazes met, he ran forward and hugged her with such force he almost knocked her off the chair. "Whoa, kid, easy," she said with a light laugh as she wrapped her arms around him. "Balance and I aren't getting along right now, remember?"

"Sorry," he murmured into her ear. He let her out of the embrace, tightly gripping her hands instead. His poor little hands were shaking. "Was that the inner ear thing that made Gramma be all … Gramma? Because if it was, I get why she's so worried."

"It was," Emma confirmed. "It's hell for a few seconds but then it goes away and I'm better." She smiled at him and he gave her a little smile in return. "I promise I'm fine. Okay?"

"Okay," he nodded.

While Emma and Henry were having their little mother-son moment, David had cleared the table and wiped up the pasta Emma had spilled. Luckily the plate hadn't broken, though a broken dinner plate would have been at the bottom of Snow's list of worries.

Snow had retreated to the bathroom and turned on the shower as hot as it would go. "Can you stand?" she asked Emma as she crossed back to the kitchen table.

Emma heaved a sigh, realizing she now had three worried family members to reassure. She nodded and slowly pushed herself to her feet. When the room didn't spin, she almost grinned in accomplishment.

The pride she felt quickly morphed into embarrassment when Snow took her hands and started leading her towards the bathroom. "You know, this is really unnecessary."

"You don't even know what I'm doing," Snow said, amusement clear as a bell in her tone.

"I meant the whole taking me by the hand thing."

Snow gave a slight roll of her eyes in her daughter's direction but the indulgent smile on her face betrayed her false annoyance. After a glance over her shoulder to make sure the boys were doing the dinner dishes, she closed the bathroom door behind her and Emma.

The steam filling the little room made beads of sweat break out on Emma's forehead. "Sit," Snow instructed, pointing to the closed lid of the toilet.

"I don't–"

"Sit."

The word was harsh that time, her mother's tone brooking no dissent. Emma raised her eyebrows. "When the hell did you get so bossy?" Still, she found herself complying, easing down on the porcelain.

"Now breathe, as deeply as you can and through your nose, if possible."

Again, Emma found herself obeying her mother's instruction almost against her will. Snow left the bathroom and returned a moment later with a box of tissues, which she handed to her daughter. "You're going to need these."

And need them Emma did. Within a few minutes, the steam swirling through the room loosened more congestion in Emma's head than the decongestants had all day. Snow turned the shower off, its work done. "This isn't a permanent solution," she said as Emma blew her nose for the umpteenth time. "We'll have to repeat it every few hours but it kickstarted the process a bit, hmm?"

Emma nodded, breathing deeply through her nose for the first time in hours. "How did you learn how to do this?"

"We still had colds in the Enchanted Forest," Snow told her, smiling as she pushed the shower curtain aside and perched on the edge of the tub. "We did not, however, have Sudafed. My mother used to give me a similar steam treatment when I was a little girl. She heated water in a pot, then removed it from the heat and had me stand over it. Sometimes she'd add peppermint oil to the water. I couldn't imagine you having the patience to stand over a pot, though, so I had to improvise."

Emma gave her mother a tiny grateful smile.

Snow smiled back and opened the bathroom door. Steam billowed out of the room while comparatively cooler air rushed in. "At least now I know I wouldn't like a steam room," Emma said, panting slightly from the humidity. "I have no idea why people think sitting in one of those suckers is relaxing."

Again, Snow smiled. Truth be told, she didn't understand the appeal of a steam room, either. "Hopefully we cleared enough stuff out of your head that you won't get that dizziness anymore," she said, getting back to the subject at hand.

Emma nodded. She hoped so, too. "I already feel a little bit better. Less … cottony, if that makes any sense."

A look of amazement came over Snow's face. "It makes perfect sense. As a matter of fact, I used to describe head congestion like that when I was young. 'Like my head is stuffed with cotton.'"

Emma felt a little jump in her heart. She and Mary Margaret had joked about Emma having her chin but finding all these little shared traits and mannerisms for real was … overwhelming. She reached for the hand sanitizer Snow had left on the vanity, partly to kill whatever germs had found their way onto her hands from the tissues but mostly for the distraction.

"Now," Snow said as she tied off the trash bag Emma had used to discard her tissues, "will you please, in the name of all that is holy, go sit on the couch?"

She gave a meek little nod. Snow held her hand out to help her daughter to her feet, and Emma actually took it. She let go as soon as she knew she could stand without wobbling, though. She did have _some_ pride left, thank you very much.

Emma left the bathroom and headed straight for the sofa. Henry wasted not a moment in climbing up onto the couch with her, nestling into her side. He was still trembling with fright, which made Emma feel so guilty her stomach lurched. "I'm so sorry I scared you, Henry."

"I'm not scared," he told her, a hint of his mother's stubbornness. "I just want to make sure you're okay."

"I'm fine." She wrapped her arm around his shoulders and smiled when she felt his trembling ease. After a moment of sitting in silence, Henry looked up at her. A sudden grin curled on his lips.

Well, now she felt insanely self-conscious. Did she have something in her teeth? "What?"

"Your hair's curling."

Emma ran her hand over her hair and found that her son was right. Goddamned humidity. "You think it's bad now? You should have seen me when I was little. My hair was shorter then, so it was curlier. Getting out of a pool on a humid summer day instantly turned me into Shirley Temple." She looked up at her parents, who had just reclaimed their seats in the living area from earlier. "Please tell me you know Shirley Temple."

"I know _of_ her," David teased by way of a confirmation. "I don't know her personally."

Emma rolled her eyes – David and his dad jokes – but at least that was one pop culture reference she didn't have to explain. Having to explain a joke took a lot of the bite out of it.

She twirled one of her curls around her finger as she darted her gaze from one parent to the other, trying to figure out something she'd always wondered. They both kept their hair too close-cropped to tell but after a moment, Emma noticed it. The ends of her mother's hair were starting to turn up from the humidity as well.

She smiled.

"What is it?" Snow asked.

"Nothing," Emma said, her voice soft in wonder. "I just realized I get my curls from you."

A touched smile spread across Snow's lips as she reached up and combed her fingers through her hair. For a brief moment, Emma was afraid she'd set off down some kind of hugely emotional road that would end with everyone in tears but, to the surprise of pretty much everyone, Snow said, "And you get your sunny disposition in the morning from your father."

"Hey!" David cried, laughing from both the comment and the shock that Snow had used Emma's tried and true method of a joking misdirect. "I'm a delight in the morning."

"You're only a delight after your first cup of coffee, Charming," Snow told him, patting his knee.

"Didn't you grow up on a farm?" Emma asked, holding back a chuckle. "Aren't you supposed to be used to getting up at the ass-crack of dawn?"

"Mom," Henry giggled.

"Oh, Emma." Snow sighed, shaking her head. "Do we need to institute a swear jar?"

"Do you know how much money I would end up giving you people?"

"That's my point, darling daughter."

"There will be no swear jar," David said, winking at Emma. She smiled at him in gratitude. "And getting back to Emma's original point, being used to something and liking it are two completely separate things."

"I hear that one," Emma agreed. She was used to getting up early, too, and she most definitely didn't like it.

"I rest my case," Snow smirked.


	13. Chapter 13

Snow only allowed a moment of relaxation following their discussion of Charming and Emma not being morning people before reminding Emma to take her temperature. They hadn't gotten a reading since before dinner, she'd said. Not that dinner was all that long ago, but apparently a rising fever had made Snow's maternal instincts come forth in earnest. Emma sighed but popped the thermometer in her mouth without argument.

From the sheer relief on her mother's face, Emma guessed that her fever hadn't risen. "You're down a half a degree," Snow murmured, giving Emma a little smile. "Not as low as I would like, but down is down."

In the meantime, Henry had hijacked the conversation. Emma thought that David had quite adeptly put the kibosh on the whole swear jar discussion but apparently her son had other ideas. "We could just use it as a little experiment!" he exclaimed after David once again told him no one was going to put out a swear jar. "We'll leave it out for a week and see how much money Mom ends up having to put in it."

An annoyed glare from his mother did nothing to kill the little grin on Henry's face. "How much are you thinking per curse word, Henry?" Snow chuckled. "A quarter?"

"Nah, a dime," he teased, his grin growing wider. "She'd owe way too much money if she had to put in a quarter every single time she swore."

"I am not that bad," Emma huffed. A sudden thought struck her, and she paused a moment before asking, "Wait, are we counting 'hell' as a swear?"

Snow and Henry both giggled but neither of them seemed to be backing down in the slightest. All right, this had officially stopped being funny. Emma would not be able to deal with a swear jar for one day, never mind a whole freaking week. She looked to her father for assistance.

"No swear jar," David reiterated with a smile at his daughter. It seemed, however, that even he couldn't resist a little dig. "It wouldn't be fair to Emma's bank account."

"Hey!" she cried, crossing her arms over her chest. "I thought you were on my side!" He simply grinned at her, and she sighed. Her language wasn't _that_ bad. Was it?

"All right, all right, no more swear jar," Henry laughed, raising his hands in surrender. "But what can we talk about now? How about … favorite music growing up?"

"We cannot talk about music," Emma replied with a vehement shake of her head. Sweet mother of God, she could not talk about music with her parents. The generation gap made most musical discussions between parents and children difficult, but her family didn't just have a generation gap to contend with. They had a _realm_ gap, for Christ's sake.

Henry frowned at her. "Why not?"

A glance across the room at her parents proved they were just as surprised at the ferocity in her voice as her son. She sighed, trying to think of how to explain why the four of them could never have any kind of coherent conversation about music.

A moment or two later, she looked back at Henry. "You and I grew up here. When we talk about music, we'll mention bands and singers we all know. When they talk about music," she said, jerking her thumb in her parents' direction, "they'll talk about the traveling minstrel from the Western Kingdom who played the _lute_."

Snow hid a snicker behind her hand and a faked cough. "And what, pray tell, is wrong with the lute?"

"I don't even know what a lute _is_," Emma sighed, slumping back against the sofa. "I just know it's an instrument traveling minstrels played."

"It's a string instrument sort of like a guitar," David chuckled. "And just so you know, I much preferred the traveling minstrel who played the fife. I unfortunately don't remember which kingdom he called home."

"We had a troubadour as part of the royal court when I was young," Snow informed her daughter while giving a little wink in her husband's direction. "He played a fiddle with the best of them."

"Wait, go back a second," Henry said, shaking his head slightly as he waved his hands in front of him in a classic rewind gesture. "What's a fife?"

"I think it's kind of like a flute," Emma replied, looking to her mother for confirmation. Snow gave her a nod.

Henry smiled. "I think a traveling minstrel would be fun to see."

Of course, his grandparents returned his smile, encouraging his curiosity about their world. Emma groaned inwardly.

Sometimes she felt like she was the only one who was severely weirded out by the whole Enchanted Forest thing. She'd been there, yeah, but every waking moment she spent there – and, if she was being honest, every moment she spent dreaming as well – was spent trying to get back home. Back here, back to this world, back to Storybrooke. On a purely intellectual level, she understood that the Enchanted Forest was supposed to be her home. On an emotional level, though … it _wasn't _her home.

Seeing a crumbling castle on the horizon and then standing in what would have been her nursery was, of course, mind-boggling. Everything her parents had spoken about today – farms and governesses and feasts and princesses – was so far beyond her own experience that she couldn't even fathom it. Her mother's family had employed a troubadour, for Christ's sake! Emma didn't even know what a troubadour was, though she guessed he was kind of like a minstrel.

Part of her wanted to know, wanted to understand. Wanted to be able to picture how life was for her parents and how life should have been for her. A larger part of her, however, found that attempting to understand made her far too uncomfortable.

"Mom?" Henry asked, startling her out of her reverie.

"Hmm?"

"Did you have a favorite instrument growing up? To listen to live, I mean."

At first, Emma was going to say no. She didn't exactly have a lot of opportunity to listen to live musical instruments when she was a kid, unless she counted the band portion of the concerts she had to attend when she accidentally joined chorus class. Which she didn't, because listening to kids who'd only had a year or two of instruction playing musical instruments was a far cry from going to the symphony.

Then she remembered something from years ago, a day she'd completely forgotten. "Bagpipes," she murmured. "There is nothing like live bagpipes."

Snow frowned at her. "You heard live bagpipes … in Maine?"

Emma nodded. "The town I was living in when I was thirteen held some kind of festival. I didn't care about the rest of the events, but I, uh, may have skipped school to go listen to the guys playing the bagpipes. Those suckers are _loud_ up close and personal, by the way. Loud but kind of awesome."

"You skipped school?" Snow and Henry asked at the same time.

Emma noted with amusement that Snow had put the emphasis on the final word in horror while Henry had emphasized the first word with amusement. "Um, yeah." She looked directly at her son; better to nip this in bud right now before he got any ideas. "That does not mean you can skip school, though."

Henry wrinkled his nose at her, making Emma smirk. That was another little thing that boggled her mind, by the way: the fact that she was starting to know what her kid was thinking before he even had a chance to say one word. Never in her life had she known anyone that well, and it was simultaneously wonderful and terrifying.

"So," Henry said, once again dragging Emma back to the here and now, "we've got a fife, a fiddle, and the bagpipes."

"Don't forget the lute," David teased.

"Oh, right, and a lute. Those instruments together would make the weirdest band of all time but do you know how awesome it would be?"

Now that, Emma could picture. Well, sort of. She didn't exactly know what a lute looked like so she was just imagining a guitar in its place. But still, the resulting mental image was amusing. "The lute player and the fiddle player could duet on 'Dueling Banjos,'" she snickered.

When her joke was met with three frowns of confusion, she groaned. "Oh for Christ's sake. Where's my phone?"

After a few seconds of searching, it turned out that Henry was sitting on it. Emma gave an indulgent roll of her eyes when he handed it to her, a sheepish grin on his face. She called up a video of "Dueling Banjos" and let it play. "Oh!" David exclaimed after the first few bars of the song had played. "I've heard that."

"_Thank_ you," Emma grumbled. "You've _all_ heard it. You just didn't know that you'd heard it." She paused as something new came to her. "Although, I don't know if you can play 'Dueling Banjos' on a fiddle so maybe my joke was stupid."

Her parents exchanged a grin, their eyes shining with amusement. "I don't see why it couldn't be played with a fiddle," Snow said. "It wouldn't sound the same but the lute has a different sound than a guitar or a banjo, too."

Emma had to admit that she sort of wanted to attend a concert put on by this imaginary band made up of people playing the fife, fiddle, bagpipes, and lute. Maybe the fife player and the bagpiper could work out some kind of arrangement of "Dueling Banjos," too. "Dueling Wind Instruments," perhaps?

All right, now she was creating an imaginary set list for an imaginary band's imaginary concert. Talk about putting the cart before the horse. Maybe her fever was messing with her thought processes more than she realized.

Or maybe Enchanted Forest music was cooler than she originally thought.

Maybe.

Henry, somehow sensing that the discussion about musical instruments was over, asked with a grin up at Emma, "Can we go back to this whole you skipped school thing?"

"Yes, I think we should," Snow agreed, attempting to look stern.

"It's not really worthy of discussion," Emma shrugged, avoiding her mother's gaze because she knew Snow would vehemently disagree. "I simply figured that listening to guys play bagpipes for a day would be a hell of a lot more fun than doing algebra. And you know what? For that day, it was."

Henry was looking at her with barely concealed awe. Again, nipping this in the bud was probably a good thing. "That still doesn't mean you can skip school, kid."

"Aw, man," Henry muttered, though Emma could hear the playfulness in his tone. "How come you got to skip school and I can't?"

_Because kids need an education_ sounded hypocritical. _Because I didn't have anyone who cared enough to make sure I went to school _would only hurt her parents. _Because school is important _sounded lame and vaguely like a platitude. Well, this was inordinately frustrating.

"Because …" Emma blinked, trailing off when she realized what was about to slip from her mouth. Oh, holy friggin' _crap_. She had almost become a goddamned cliché.

"Because why?" Henry asked, his face the picture of innocence.

Well, now she had to come up with something. The only problem was that her ability to come up with stuff on the fly seemed to be severely hampered by the cold meds. In a tiny little voice, she said, "Because I said so."

David managed to turn his snort into a little cough but Snow had to duck her head to hide her laughter. Even Henry bit his lip in an effort not to laugh out loud.

"Well, Emma, that does it," David said, trying not to snicker. "You're officially a parent now."


	14. Chapter 14

**Author's Note:** Well, it's been a hell of a week, huh? I started a new job on Monday, which is, of course, the day my city became international news. I live about half an hour south of Boston, so I was never in any direct danger or involved in any of the scariness, but it's more than a little unnerving to have this kind of horrific stuff happening in your own back yard. Still, I've never been more proud to be Boston Strong than I have been this week.  
**Author's Note, Part the Second:** You people are amazing. I know, I know, I say that in almost every author's note, but I mean it wholeheartedly. You guys are the reason 95% of my stories end up being far longer than I ever intended. Thank you so much for your reviews and follows and favorites. Your support means the world to me and never fails to make me grin like an idiot, haha. I hope you've enjoyed this story even half as much as I've enjoyed getting all your lovely comments. :)

* * *

Snow plopped down in the seat next to her husband, slightly out of breath. She had certainly earned her Official Parent merit badge today. She'd just managed to get another dose of cold medicine down her daughter's throat, which, if she did say so herself, was something of a minor miracle. Emma was tiring, and with her waning energy came waning patience.

Which was why when Henry asked if they were going to watch _Jurassic Park _anytime soon, Snow told him he could put the movie in now. Henry grinned and jumped up to put the DVD into the player, but Snow's eyes were solely focused on Emma. Relief flickered across poor Emma's face at the thought of a two-hour reprieve from having to talk. Snow smiled to herself. Her stubborn daughter apparently would not hear of taking herself out of the lineup, but a rain delay seemed to be fine with her.

When Henry settled back on the sofa, Emma unwrapped the blanket from around her legs and threw it out across the cushions so that it covered her son's legs as well. Henry grinned at her, snuggling under the blanket as he grasped the remote control from the end table.

"So," Emma said as Henry navigated the DVD's menu, "remember how I told you that _Jurassic Park_ was the first movie Jason and I got into? It was almost the last."

"How come?" David asked, a gentle smile on his face. Snow smiled herself; she loved how much he loved hearing about Emma's childhood.

"Because I was nine and we were watching a movie where dinosaurs eat people," Emma chuckled. "I screamed out loud at one point and drew attention to us."

Henry's brows knit in a little frown as he pulled the case off the end table and squinted at the back. "But it's only PG-13. You shouldn't have needed a parent to get in."

"It had nothing to do with the rating and everything to do with the fact that we actually held tickets for some kind of Tom and Jerry movie. We would have gotten caught if anyone checked our tickets. One of the keys to successfully sneaking into a movie is not to call attention to yourself."

"Tom and Jerry?" David laughed. "You liked Tom and Jerry when you were little?"

"Nope. I had no desire to watch a cartoon cat chase a cartoon mouse when I could watch dinosaurs chase people around an island. But anyway, my point was, if you were quiet enough, sometimes you could spend the entire day at the theater and watch movie after movie. You'd just leave the auditorium when the movie was over, hide out in the bathroom for a little while, and then sneak into another auditorium where a movie was just starting."

A sad smile curled on Snow's lips when she spied the twinkle of nostalgia in Emma's eyes. She disapproved of the way a young Emma had chosen to spend her time and she was a bit annoyed with this Jason for taking her daughter under his rather questionable wing, but she did have to admit that she was glad Emma had had someone who paid her a little bit of attention. Even if that someone was a little boy not much older than Emma herself and who taught her how to break the rules.

"But like I said," Emma added after a beat of silence, glancing down at Henry, "never do that."

He giggled. "Yes, Mom."

When he pressed play, everyone save Snow turned their attention to the small television. "You know, this screen is really way too small for a movie like this," Emma groaned.

Snow kept half an eye on the television while the rest of her attention remained on her daughter. Emma sniffled a couple of times before reaching for the box of tissues on the floor. _All right_, Snow thought, _after the movie, we should repeat the steam treatment._

She watched the movie for a few minutes before glancing back over at Emma. The steam treatment after the movie would more than likely not be happening, she realized with a smile. The cold finally seemed to be getting the better of her daughter, who was now lying on her side with the blanket pulled up around her shoulders. Every so often, her eyes would slide closed but she'd shake herself awake a second or two later.

Snow figured it would only be another twenty minutes or so before she was completely asleep.

She actually underestimated her poor sick baby's exhaustion. Emma was snoring before any of the dinosaurs even showed up onscreen. Henry tore his focus from the movie long enough to grin over at his mother before turning the same look on his grandmother. "You gave her the nighttime stuff this time, right?"

"No," Snow laughed. "I thought about it, but then I figured she'd crash on her own eventually. She's exhausted."

David reached out for Snow's hand and she complied, clasping a hand that fit perfectly into her own. It never failed to make her smile, all the different ways they were perfect for each other. She tightened her grip, and he squeezed back almost automatically. She smiled again, unconsciously running her thumb up and down the back of his hand.

They stayed that way until the movie was over. "So, what'd you think?" she asked as she finally released her husband's hand so she could turn off the television.

"I completely understand why it's one of her favorite movies," David said, smiling in his sleeping daughter's direction. "That was extremely entertaining."

Snow smiled as well, following his gaze over to the sofa. At some point during the movie, Emma had turned onto her back and stretched out across the couch with her feet resting in Henry's lap. She looked so comfortable that Snow visibly flinched at the thought of having to wake her to get her upstairs. "Henry, can you do me a favor?"

"Sure," he shrugged. He carefully shifted his mom's feet off his lap and stood, an eager smile on his face.

"Will you go unmake her bed for her?"

Henry nodded and took off up the stairs. While David began cleaning up everything that had accumulated in the living area throughout the family's day, Snow crouched down next to the sofa and gently shook her daughter's shoulder. "Emma."

"Mmm." Emma scrunched her nose and turned her head to face the back of the couch.

She tried again and this time, Emma responded, blearily blinking her eyes open. "There you are," Snow said teasingly. "I think it's bedtime."

Emma gave a slight shake of her head as her eyes slid closed. "I'm awake."

Snow exchanged a grin with her husband. "You've been asleep for over an hour and a half, Emma."

At that, Emma groaned. She pushed herself up into a sitting position, rubbing her eyes like a small child awakening from a nap. When she looked over to the television and saw that it was off, her brow knit in confusion. "I missed the whole movie?"

David snorted in amusement. "I think you might have seen the first fifteen minutes."

"Did you like it?"

"I did," he smiled. "I see why you love it so much."

"'Kay, good," Emma murmured as she pushed herself to her feet.

The blanket that had been covering her dropped to the floor as she stood but before she could even bend her knees to retrieve it, Snow had done so herself. She left the blanket in a crumpled heap on the sofa as she rested her hand on the small of Emma's back and started to lead her towards the stairs.

Since Emma was still half-asleep, she complied far easier than Snow was expecting. And since Emma was still half-asleep, Snow felt comfortable gesturing for David to follow them upstairs. A fully awake and aware Emma would likely have had a conniption fit over her family babying her like this, so Snow was more than willing to take advantage of this opportunity to take care of her little girl.

Henry, who had turned down his mother's bed as Snow had asked, grinned when he saw the entire family tromping up the stairs. David winked, causing Henry's grin to grow wider. Emma tiredly plopped down on the edge of the bed and waited while Snow arranged the pillows.

Her hand touched something soft under Emma's pillow. As she grasped it, her fingers sank into soft yarn she instinctively knew she'd once touched, yarn that had only become softer through the passage of time. Emma's baby blanket.

A large part of her wanted to pull it out and drape it over her daughter's shoulders the way she would have all Emma's life had she had the chance. Once again, it was the Mary Margaret in her who squelched that desire, who understood that this secret needed to remain Emma's. It was, however, the mother in her who was touched that Emma still slept with her baby blanket under her pillow.

"Good night, Mom," Henry whispered, wrapping his mother in a gentle hug. "I hope you feel better tomorrow."

"Thanks, kid," Emma replied, wrapping her arms around him as well. "Don't con your grandparents into letting you stay up too late."

"I won't, I promise," he giggled as he pulled away. "But Mom? If you still feel sick tomorrow, do you think maybe we could do this again? Story time, I mean. It was fun."

A little smile curled on Emma's lips. "Sure."

Henry grinned. "Okay, good. And now I've got witnesses in case you don't remember you agreed to it."

David and Snow exchanged a grin. That was nicely done, Snow had to admit. As Henry slipped past his grandparents on his way out of the room, he gave them both a wink.

After Henry left, it was David's turn to say his good nights. He sat down on the edge of the mattress as Emma swung her legs up onto the bed. When he drew the covers up over her knees, she seemed to regain a tiny bit of clarity. "Are you tucking me in?"

She sounded vaguely horrified at the thought but David handled it masterfully. "Just helping you get settled," he shrugged while allowing her to pull the covers up on her own. Then he softly told her to lie down, and once again, she complied without argument. Snow smiled, touched, when Emma tucked her hands under the pillow to grip her blanket. Her eyes drifted closed a moment later.

"Good night, princess," David whispered.

"G'night," Emma murmured in reply.

David raised his eyebrows at his wife. Clearly he'd been expecting some kind of reaction to the nickname, but Emma was so tired, the term of endearment probably hadn't even registered.

It wasn't until David tiptoed down the stairs that Snow said her own good nights. She lightly touched Emma's forehead to feel for her fever. Emma's skin felt much cooler than earlier. Her daughter's fever had finally broken, she realized with a breath of relief.

As she sat down on the empty side of Emma's bed so as not to disturb her, she couldn't help thinking about all the good nights she'd missed. All of Emma's firsts, all the little moments, all the conversations and the activities and art projects. All the things she never got to do for Emma, things she desperately wished she had been able to do.

And before she knew it, she was humming. Whether it was an attempt to soothe her daughter into a deeper slumber or an attempt to soothe herself, Snow had no idea. Perhaps it was a little bit of both.

She didn't know when her humming turned into singing, nor did she know why she'd chosen this particular song to sing. Perhaps it was the melancholy mood in which she'd suddenly found herself, or perhaps she identified with the longing the song described. That aching yearning for something that could never happen. Either way, just like before, she went with it. "_There's a port on a western bay and it serves a hundred ships a day_–"

A little snort of amusement interrupted her. "You're trying to make a lullaby out of Looking Glass now?" Emma murmured, her voice barely audible. Her brows quirked up slightly but her eyes remained closed.

And just like that, Snow's heart lightened. Though she would never be okay with the time she lost, she had her baby now. Her baby was a remarkably amazing woman who always knew just what to say when anyone needed a moment of levity. "As a matter of fact, I am," Snow whispered back. "Now shush."

Emma gave a barely perceptible nod, making Snow smile and raise her eyebrows in surprise at the same time.

Snow began to sing again, starting the song over. By the time the sailors told Brandy she was a fine girl, Emma's breathing had evened out. Snow smiled, brushed an errant lock of hair out of Emma's eyes, and bent down to press a gentle kiss to her temple. "Good night, sweetheart."


End file.
